THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


MRS. BEN   DARBY: 


t  iBtal  ani  StJot  si  f  ami 


BY 


A.  MARIA  COLLINS. 


O  !  that  men  should  put  an  enemy 

In  their  mouths  to  steal  away   their    brains  !      That    we    should  with    joy,    revel, 
pleasure  and  applause,  transform  ourselves  into  beasts. — OTHELLO. 


THIRD     EDITION. 

CINCINNATI: 
MOORE,  ANDERSON,  WILSTACH  &  KEYS, 

28  WEST  FOURTH   STREKT. 

1853. 


Entered,  according  to  act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1853,  by 

'    MOORE,    ANDERSON    &    COMPANY, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  District  of  Ohio. 


CINCINNATI: 

0.   A.   MORGAN    &   CO.,   STEKEOTYPKHfi, 
HAMMOND  ST. 


PS 


r? 


MES.     BEN     DAEBY. 


1213338 


MRS,    BEN    DARBY, 


after  I* 


THE  wind  from  the  north  had  stripped  the  mountains  of 
their  verdure,  save  where  the  clusters  of  evergreens  clung 
to  the  crevices  of  the  rocks  and  the  blasted  elms.  The 
winter  storm  whistled  rudely  through  the  deep  valleys,  and 
away  over  the  summits  of  the  gray  rocks  that  overhung  the 
mountain's  brow.  The  birds  had  gone  in  pursuit  of  a 
warmer  climate  and  a  brighter  sky.  The  deer  and  other 
wild  animals  had  taken  up  their  winter-quarters  in  the 
cavernous  recesses  of  the  Blue-Ridge.  The  snow  had  been 
falling  all  day,  and  lay  deep  down  in  the  valley  and  on  the 
fields.  Night  came  on  early  ;  the  cattle  had  sought  the 
shelter  of  the  barn,  surrounded  with  its  huge  stacks  of  hay, 
and  with  inimitable  patience  and  resignation  turned  their 
backs  to  the  tempest.  All  was  cold  and  dreary  without, 
but  comfort  reigned  in  the  little  parlor  at  Wolf-Gap.  A  huge 
log-fire,  encouraged  by  pine-knots,  blazed  on  the  hearth, 
and  was  reflected  from  every  corner  of  the  spacious  apart 
ment.  The  little  old-fashioned,  selfish-looking  tea-table, 
the  unshared  property  of  the  former  inhabitant  of  the  cot 
tage,  still  occupied  its  corner,  graced  with  its  silver  tea-urn 
and  its  china  cups.  Mr.  Temple  sat  by  the  candle-stand, 
reading  the  Richmond  Enquirer  and  the  Petersburg  Intel 
ligencer.  What  had  he  to  do  with  storms,  either  moral, 

(5) 


6  MRS.  BEN  DAKBY. 

political  or  elementary  ?  True,  he  read  of  the  tumults 
abroad ;  of  shipwrecks  on  the  coast  of  Africa ;  of-  earth 
quakes  in  Florida  ;  of  mail-stage  accidents,  and  of  the  dis 
appearance  of  an  elderly  gentleman  from  the  Baltimore 
packet,  who  never  had  been  heard  of  since,  and  was  sup 
posed  to  be  drowned. 

The  stormy  winds  rattled  the  window-blinds,  and  lashed 
the  long  branches  of  the  gigantic  willow  against  the  gable- 
end  of  the  house.  Nothing  disturbed  Mr.  Temple  —  all 
about  him  was  comfort.  The  tea-kettle  was  simmering  be 
fore  the  fire,  sending  out  its  diminutive  locomotive  whistle 
with  its  puffs  of  steam. 

Mr.  Temple  was  a  popular  man  in  his  county,  and  was 
highly  esteemed  by  all  who  knew  him  ;  order  and  system 
were  in  all  his  actions  and  domestic  arrangements;  the 
returns  of  the  seasons  and  changes  of  the  weather  never 
found  him  unprepared  or  unsettled.  Everything  around 
'  him  was  sheltered  from  the  storm — all  went  on  like  clock 
work.  The  little  tea-kettle  still  simmered  and  puffed  at 
"  the  top  of  its  bent,"  when  the  loud  barking  of  the  dogs  and 
the  trampings  of  a  horse  were  heard  on  the  new-fallen  snow. 
Then  at  the  big  gate  was  heard  the  salutation  of  some  one, 
"  Halloo  !  the  house,"  and  before  Mr.  Temple  had  folded 
his  paper  and  laid  it  aside,  a  loud  rap  announced  a  visitor. 

The  servant  opened  the  parlor  door,  and  a  young 
man  with  a  coarse  overcoat,  stood  in  the  center  of  the 
room.  He  held  a  large  bundle  under  the  folds  of  his  coat, 
which  he  appeared  to  handle  carefully  and  very  suspi 
ciously. 

"  How  do  you  do  'Squire  ?"  said  he,  taking  off  his  hat ; 
"I  hope  I  find  you  well." 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  7 

"  Ah,  Larkins,  is  it  you  ;  what  brings  you  out  on  such  a 
night  ?" 

"You  may  well  ask  that  question,  'Squire,  for  it  is  an 
awful  stormy  night ;  the  snow  is  a  foot  deep,  at  least,  and 
the  wind  blows  a  perfect  hurricane.  It  comes  down  from 
the  mountains  with  a  perfect  rush.  Hush,"  continued  he, 
shaking  the  bundle  under  his  arm,  "  where  is  Miss  Paulina  ?" 

"  Take  a  seat,  Peter,  she  will  be  in  immediately." 

"  I  have  brought  her  a  Christmas  gift,  sir,  and  I  am  in 
a  great  hurry,  it  is  growing  late  and  getting  colder,  you  see, 
sir.  I  have  come  from  the  Cross-Keys  since  sundown,  and 
the  snow  balls  so  under  the  horse's  feet  that  I  couldn't  make 
anyway  at  all  hardly." 

"Well,  Larkins,  lay  the  bundle  on  the  table,  Miss  Temple 
is  much  obliged  to  you  for  your  present." 

Here  Mr.  Temple  was  interrupted  by  the  mysterious  move 
ments  of  his  visitor,  who  began  to  draw  off  the  coverings 
which  enveloped  what  he  termed  his  Christmas-gift.  A  pair 
of  little  feet  presented  themselves  to  view,  then  a  small  head, 
with  black,  curly  hair,  and  a  gipsy-like  eye  peered  out  from 
the  cape  of  his  coat,  and  looked  wildly  about  the  room. 

"  Larkins,  are  you  drunk?"  inquired  the  Squire. 
"  Sober  as  a  judge,  Squire,"  returned  Larkins,  "  I  have  not 
drank  a  drop  for  a  week,  as  I  knows  of,  and  if  I  had  it  is  likely 
I  would  have  known  it,  for  I  generally  feel  it ;  you  know  it 
pervades  the  whole  system  ;  but,  Squire,  I  can  keep  from 
it  when  there  is  a  needcessity,  and  I  pities  the  man  that 
can't.  But,  see  here,  Miss  Paulina,  aint  this  worth  picking 
up  on  the " 

"  Oh  !  what  a  beauty,"  cried  Miss  Temple,  who  stood  in 
the  door  perfectly  astonished  at  the  unexpected  stranger. 


8  MRS.  BKN  DARBY. 

Larkins  had  seated  himself,  and  held  the  infant  on  his 
knee,  stroking  back  with  his  rough  hand  the  silken  ringlets 
from  its  cold  face.  The  babylooked  up  slyly  into  the  face 
of  its  kind  nurse,  then  turning  its  eyes  suddenly  toward 
Mr.  Temple,  a  beautiful  smile  played  over  her  features,  and 
reaching  out  both  hands  toward  him,  she  struggled  to  get 
to  him.  Mr.  Temple  could  not  resist  the  appeal ;  he  took 
it  in  his  arms,  and  did  his  best  to  hold  it  comfortably,  but, 
like  a  green  politician  just  sworn  into  office,  he  did  not  ex 
actly  understand  how  to  handle  the  affair,  but  he  was  in  for 
it  and  had  to  gq  it. 

"  Now,  Squire,  I  will  just  tell  you  how  it  all  happened  ; 
I  han't  had  anything  in  the  house  to  drink  for  a  month  of 
Sundays,  so  I  thought,  as  Christmas  was  hard-by  that  this 
was  a  good  time  to  treat  resolution,  so  I  took  my  bottle  and 
started  off  to  the  forks  of  the  road  to  get  it  filled;  so  just  as 
I  got  in  sight  of  the  Cross-Keys  I  met  a  gentleman  riding 
very  fast;  he  slackened  his  pace  when  he  seed  me  coming, 
and  drawing  up  his  crittur  under  the  big  walnut  tree  by  the 
blacksmith's  shop,  called  to  me  : 

'"Peter  Larkins,'  said  he,  'if  I  am  not  mistaken?' 
'  Peter  Larkins,  says  I,  and  no  mistake.'  '  Peter,' 
says  he,  '  are  you  sure  you  are  sober  ?'  '  I  don't  think, 
says  I,  that  you  can  be  very  well  acquainted  with  me,  and 
make  such  insinuations.'  'Well,  Larkins,'  says  he,  '  I 
know  you  of  old,  and  I  suppose,  by  this  time,  you  know 
me.'  '  I  don't  know  as  I  ever  laid  eyes  on  you  before, 
says  I.'  '  Well,  Peter,'  says  he,  '  I  want  you  to  take 
this  child  to  the  '  Gap.'  "  For  the  first  time  I  discovered 
he  had  something  under  his  cloak.  '  I  have  just  left  the 
stage,  and  must  return  in  time  to  take  it,  when  it  passes 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  9 

down  to  night ;  you  must  place  this  child  in  the  hands  of  its 
aunt.'  " 

"Oh  !  it  is  our  own  dear  little  Elinor,"  cried  Miss  Tem 
ple,  throwing  herself  on  her  knees  before  it.  "  Oh  !  what 
a  sweet  darling  it  is." 

Mr.  Temple  pressed  the  child  closely  to  his  bosom  with 
a  vehemence  unusual  to  him.  It  was  sometime  before 
Larkins  could  speak ;  at  last  he  broke  the  silence  in  a  voice 
a  little  husky : 

"I  always  heard  say,  that  blood  was  thicker  than  water." 

"Where  is  my  son,  Peter?"  asked  Mr.  Larkins. 

"Well,  sir,  he  bid  me  bring  the  child  to  Miss  Temple, 
and  tell  her  to  guard  her  well,  for  she  was  all  he  had  left. 
I  insisted  on  his  coming  with  me  also,  but  he  said  he  had 
not  a  moment  to  lose,  and  as  he  had  met  me  he  would  re 
turn  at  once.  He  gave  me  the  child;  it  was  asleep;  I  came 
on  as  fast  as  the  nature  of  the  case  would  permit.  So  you 
see,  Squire,  that  Peter  Larkins  can  be  depended  on  in  a 
pinch." 

"I  would  have  trusted  you  myself,  coming  this  end  of 
the  road  ;  but  did  my  son  say  anything  about  his  wife  ;  can 
she  have  left  him  ?" 

"I  shouldn't  wonder  if  she  was  dead,"  said  Peter,  "for 
he  looked  like  he  missed  something.  So  Squire,  you  would 
not  have  trusted  me,  if  I  had  been  going  toward  the  forks 
of  the  road,  or  the  '  Cross-Keys,'  hey  Squire  ?" 

"You  have  done  bravely,  Peter,"  said  Mr.  Temple, 
"you  see  Paulina  is  delighted  with  her  Christmas-gift." 

Peter  was  forced  to  stay  to  supper,  but  Miss  Temple  was 
so  excited,  that  she  could  scarcely  make  tea,  or  perform 


10  MRS.  BEN  DAUBY. 

the  duties  of  the  table  ;  and  long  after  Peter  had  left  the 
cottage,  and  her  father  had  retired  to  rest,  she  sat  by  the 
fire,  holding  her  beautiful  niece  in  her  lap,  gazing  on  its 
infantine  features,  and  looking  into  its  dark,  brilliant  eyes, 
shaded  with  long  lashes ;  she  examined  its  tiny  fingers, 
with  their  rosy  nails,  and  the  dimples  in  its  flushed  cheeks, 
and  she  lavished  upon  it  the  most  endearing  epithets.  At 
length  she  placed  it  in  her  own  bed,  drew  the  curtains 
around  it,  and  kneeling  down  by  the  side,  thanked  Heaven 
that  she  had  something  to  love — something  to  live  for — one 
sweet  tie  of  kindred  affection  to  cheer  her  solitary  way. 

Miss  Temple  had  never  married,  and  every  one  said  she 
would  live  and  die  an  old  maid.  There  was  a  mystery 
about  it  that  had  elicited  many  conjectures,  but  time,  that 
great  tell-tale,  passed  on  without  making  any  revelations; 
and  the  little  circle  in  which  she  moved,  became  accus 
tomed  to  see  her  preside  over  her  father's  household  with 
urbanity,  zeal,  and  uniform  decorum.  If  she  had  ever 
suffered  a  sorrow,  or  been  dissatisfied  in  her  youthful  days, 
one  thing  was  certain,  it  had  not  stolen  the  rose  from  her 
cheek,  or  the  luster  from  her  eye,  nor  had  it  left  a  trace 
upon  her  brow.  It  had  never  paralyzed  the  quick  emotions 
of  her  heart — a  heart  overflowing  with  all  the  kind  sensibili 
ties  of  her  sex.  She  lived  in  doing  good — in  making  others 
better  and  happier.  She  had  been  very  lovely  in  person. 
It  is  true,  time  had  brushed  off  the  first  tints  of  youth,  but 
had  left  her  the  full  grace  of  womanhood. 

The  experience  of  man  leads  back  upon  a  world  of  vicis 
situdes,  but  that  of  an  old  maid — who  can  trace  it?  Her 
life  is  made  up  of  so  many  trials  and  perplexities,  uncared 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  11 

for  and  unshared.     Let  her  lot  fall  where  it  may,  there  i.° 
nothing  left  her  but  endurance  and  privation. 

I  have  always  believed  that  the  divine  Giver  of  all  good, 
holds  in  reversion  a  double  portion  of  heavenly  happiness  for 
her  who  has  to  stem  the  current  of  life  alone — to  buffet 
the  waves  of  worldly  contamination,  unshielded  and  un- 
sustained  by  earthly  companionship. 


* 

-  •'.-  *   • 


12  MRS.  BEN  DARBY". 


after   2. 


We  were  young,  when  you  and  I 

Talked  of  golden  things  together, 
Of  love  and  rhymes,  of  books  and  men, 
Ah,  our  hearts  were  buoyant  then, 

As  the  wild  goose  feather.          BARRY  CORNWALL 

HENBT  TEMPLE,  the  father  of  Elinor,  was  a  noble, 
frank,  and  polished  gentleman.  He  possessed  that  amenity 
of  manners  so  very  pleasing,  yet  so  frequently  the  vail  of 
evil  purposes.  With  him,  it  was  the  natural  result  of  kindly 
feelings,  and  generous  impulses.  He  was  alive  most  sensi 
tively,  to  the  principles  which  control  and  regulate  the 
honor  of  a  gentleman.  Pride  of  character  was,  perhaps, 
the  strongest  point  in  his  nature;  and  I  am  very  sure  it  was 
also  strengthened  by  education,  and  parental  example. 
He  had  married  a  beautiful  girl,  with  whom  he  kad  formed 
but  a  very  slight  acquaintance.  She  had  been  the  belle 
of  the  season ;  he  was  rich,  and  her  best  cards  had  been 
played  to  secure  him. 

It  matters  not  how  high  and  penetrative  the  mind  of 
man  is  (and  woman  too),  on  all  the  important  subjects  of 
life,  yet  when  love  is  the  stake,  how  very  often  is  the  inex 
plicable  inconsistency  of  human  nature  betrayed.  Henry 
Temple  was  gay — somewhat  of  a  dasher — at  least  fond  of 
amusements  and  high  life,  yet  he  could  never  be  persuaded 
to  contract  habits  deleterious  to  his  health,  fortune,  or 
character. 

He  did  not  visit  the  Gap  fo^^any  months,  and  when  he 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  13 

.* 

came,  he  was  almost  a  shadow  of  himself.  Sorrow  and 
disappointment  were  stamped  upon  his  countenance.  A 
long  attack  of  nervous  fever,  detained  him  at  the  home  of 
his  youth  during  a  whole  winter,  and  his  friends  were 
almost  despairing  of  his  recovery,  when  the  return  of 
spring,  and  the  invigorating  air  of  the  mountains,  partially 
restored  his  health  and  strength.  During  his  illness,  it  was 
evident  to  those  around  him  that  his  disease  was  more  of 
a  mental  than  bodily  character.  Some  grief,  deep  and 
corrosive,  was  laying  waste  the  energies  of  his  nature,  and 
draining  the  pure  sources  of  his  heart.  So  firmly  had  it 
taken  root,  that  he  had  not  power  to  shake  it  off,  or  to  re 
lieve  himself  of  its  dominion.  He  seemed  to  have  forgot 
ten  the  essential  purposes  of  life  in  this  secret  sorrow — this 
hidden  mortification.  He  never  named  his  wife,  or  alluded 
to  her  in  any  of  his  conversations.  As  the  spring  advanced, 
his  frail  and  attenuated  frame  gathered  strength  more 
rapidly,  and  a  feeble  smile  sometimes  was  found  stealing 
over  his  stoic  countenance.  It  was  almost  the  middle  of 
May,  I  think,  when  he  received  letters  which  seemed  to 
arouse  him  from  his  dark  dreams. 

"I  must,"  said  he  to  his  sister,  "leave  these  beautiful 
scenes,  and  quiet  shades,  for  the  bustle  of  city  life  ;  I  must 
meet  my  fellow  man  ;  it  will  not  do  for  me  to  live  in  the 
world,  and  shun  it  like  a  monk  or  a  brigand.  I  must 
struggle  against  fate  ;  I  am  resolved  to  meet  it  like  a  man  ; 
I  have  moped  about  here  like  an  evil  shadow  long  enough; 
I  give  you,  dear  sister,  my  best  confidence  when  I  give  you 
my  child  ;"  he  placed  the  child  upon  her  knee.  "  Keep 
her  from  the  whirlpool  of  fashion;  hide  her  from  pollution," 


14  MRS.  BEN  DARBT. 

he  spoke  very  low,  and  with  a  quivering  lip,  "  and  as  you 
value  my  love,  never — no  never— let  her  taste  ardent  spirits. 

"  Oh  !  what  do  you  mean,  brother  ?"  inquired  Miss 
Temple. 

"I  mean  that  it  is  the  fiery  worm  that  has  stolen  into 
the  Eden  of  my  heart ;  it  has  planted  its  poisonous  fangs 
so  deep,  that  time  cannot  tear  them  from  me.  It  is  the 
veriest  curse  of  life.  It  saps  the  foundation  of  every 
moral  virtue,  and  sears  with  its  baneful  breath  the  sweetest 
joys  of  life.  It  burns  up  every  gentle  emotion  of  the  soul — 
stirs  up  the  crushed  dregs  of  every  evil  passion,  until  its 
victim  becomes  a  mass  of  degradation.  It  lays  like  an  in 
cubus  upon  the  spirit,  counting  the  trembling  pulses  of  the 
brain,  with  maddening  fury  eating  out.  the  heart  with  its 
blistering  venom.  Oh !  thou  damning  draught,  earth  has 
no  greater  curse,  or  hell  a  greater  torment." 

"Brother!  brother!"  cried  Miss  Temple,  laying  her  hand 
on  his  lips,  "  Oh  !  be  not  rash,  or  vehement,  why  should 
you  ?" 

"Why  should  I  not?  that  is  the  question." 

"  Dear  brother,  you  have  never  fallen  so  low — you  are 
free  from  such  vices — do  not  agitate  yourself — remember 
to  be  temperate  in  all  things." 

"Ah!  well,"  continued  Henry,  rubbing  his  brow,  "I  will 
say  to  you,  never  let  that  child  see  a  drunkard,  without 
telling  her,  that  he  is  the  most  helpless,  worthless,  and  the 
most  disgusting  object  that  incumbers  the  earth.  Teach 
her  to  despise,  not  to  pity  him." 

"I  will  teach  her,  Henry,  that  there  is  an  innate  power 
in  the  soul  of  man  to  baffle  temptation,  a  living  principle 


MBS.  BEN  DARBT.  16 

jf- 

of  faith,  that  gives  us  support  when  frail  nature  is  ready  to 
yield.  Oh!  my  brother,  God  never  made  man  and  sent  him 
into  the  world  so  poorly  shielded,  that  his  passions  and 
appetites  can  alone  control  him.  There  is  a  power  of  re 
sistance  in  man,  superior,  in  force,  to  that  which  draws  him 
on  to  an  evil  destiny,  if  he  would  yield  himself  to  it  with 
the  same  pliancy  with  which  he  gives  himself  up  to  .the 
full  dominion  of  the  tempter." 

"You  mean  moral  courage?"  replied  Henry  Temple. 

"Not  altogether,"  replied  Paulina,  "but  the  proper  esti 
mate  of  the  powers  and  endowments  of  the  soul.  It 
never  was  intended  by  the  wise  Creator  of  the  universe, 
that  humanity  should  suffer  through  the  vicissitudes  of  life, 
and  perils  of  temptation  alone.  There  is  a  power  whose 
universal  aid  is  offered  in  the  darkest  hour." 

"I  know  it,  but  it  is  so  hard  for  man  to  be  led  by  any 
will  but  his  own." 

"  Oh  !  no,  brother,  not  so  very  difficult,  if — " 

"Yes,  if — but  can  you  suppose,  Paulina,  that  one  who 
has  given  up  all,  every  sacred  tie,  every  hallowed  trust, 
and  plunged  himself  into  the  very  depths  of  an  abomi 
nable  evil,  can  ever  be  reclaimed?" 

"Surely  I  do,  brother." 

"It  is  easy  to  speak  thus,  and  to  think  thus,  but  oh  !  the 
trial — the  trial.  Do  you  know,  sister,  that  I  have  tried  to 
be  a  drunkard — I  have  tried  to  love  it." 

"No,  I  am  sure  you  could  not,  dear  Harry,  but  never 
try  the  experiment  again." 

"  Never,  sister,  I  have  taken  the  pledge.  No,  I  will 
never  break  it,  not  if  I  lose  all  that  is  dear  in  life — poor 
little  Elinor,"  and  catching  the  child,  he  folded  her  to  his 


16  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

bosom,  and  his  tears  were  hidden  in  the  silken  folds  of  her 

. 
dark  hair. 

Henry  Temple  went  into  the  world,  to  contend  with  its 
scoffs,  its  mortifications,  and  its  fiery  ordeals,  alone  and 
feeble,  his  frame  attenuated,  and  his  constitution  shattered, 
leaving  in  his  inner  being  the  deep  and  inextricable  cancer 
that  burned  like  a  smothered  volcano,  devouring  the  very 
vitals  of  his  existence.  • 

Time  passed  on,  and  the  inhabitants  of  Wolf- Gap  pur 
sued  the  even  tenor  of  their  way,  uninterrupted  by  sorrow 
or  calamity. 

Little  Elinor  grew  in  grace  and  beauty.  She  was  idol 
ized  by  her  relatives,  and  petted  by  all  the  friends  of  the 
family.  She.  was  gentle  as  the  ring-dove  in  the  valley  pine, 
and  so  thoughtful  and  pensive,  that  you  would  have  thought 
her  under  the  influence  of  some  secret  spell — that  her  feel 
ings  were  drawn  by  magnetic  mystery  to  the  spirit  of  her 
father.  Her  thoughts  wore  a  deeper  tinge  than  le  couleur 
du  rose.  She  was  kind  and  unselfish  to  a  fault.  This  trait 
procured  her  more  friends  than  her  beauty  or  gentleness. 

In  the  village-school  her  superiority  was  acknowledged 
by  all.  She  ever  had  the  best  seat,  and  the  rarest  flowers — 
the  prettiest  birds  and  the  brightest,  berries  from  the  hill 
side.  They  called  her  the  mountain-blossom — the  wild  rose 
of  the  hollow.  The  children  loved  to  gather  around  her, 
when  she  sat  on  the  grass,  with  her  black  curls  hanging 
over  her  face,  making  bouquets  of  daisies  and  blue-bells, 
and  tying  up  love-knots  with  the  long  broom-straw.  That 
old,  uncouth  school-house  stood  down  in  a  valley  where  the 
sun  shone  on  its  quaint  front  all  winter,  and  in  the  summer 
the  sycamores  and  the  butternuts  threw  their  wild  shadows 


MRS.  BEN  DARBT.  17 

around  it  like  a  curtain,  and  the  fresh  breezes  from  the  hill 
tops  came  laden  with  the  perfume  of  the  honeysuckle. 
In  the  spring,  the  dogwood  and  crab -apple  bloom,  mingled 
with  the  cedar  and  hemlock,  gave  life  and  beauty  to  the 
rural  spot.  The  house  was  composed  of  logs,  with  long 
windows  in  front,  which  were  fastened  up  by  hooks,  to  ad 
mit  the  air  or  light,  as  the  occasion  required.  Although 
rude  and  unadorned  by  the  sculptor,  yet  it  had  something 
classic  in  its  tout  ensemble.  But  few  marvelous  incidents 
disturbed  the  tranquillity  of  those  academic  shades,  such 
as  agitate  the  "  city  full."  The  most  exciting  and  stirring 
event  that  transpired,  happened  every  other  day  ;  yet  it  was 
always  novel  and  interesting,  and  never  occurred  without 
producing  an  ungovernable  commotion.  This  was  the 
rumbling  of  the  mail-coach  down  the  hill.  The  driver 
would  blow  his  horn  as  he  turned  the  "  Gap,"  on  purpose 
to  exhilarate  the  young  students,  and  in  a  moment  every 
head  was  popped  out  of  the  window.  The  master  himself 
could  not  forbear  walking  to  the  door,  with  the  birch  in  his 
hand,  and  his  spectacles  on  his  head.  Very  often  he  was 
rewarded  for  his  complacency  by  a  package  of  newspapers 
or  Congress  speeches,  which  were  thrown  to  him  by  the 
Jehu  of  the  route.  It  always  required  prompt  measures  on 
the  part  of  the  master  to  restore  order  and  tranquillity, 
after  this  usual  but  delightful  treat. 

Sometimes  a  peddler  of  fancy  notions  would  turn  in  and 
throw  himself  on  the  grass  to  rest  and  exhibit  to  the  eager 
crowd  his  little  museum  of  new  inventions,  and  his  rare 
and  very  cheap  commodities.  The  master,  after  looking 
over  his  lot  of  merchandise,  would  generally  conclude  to 
treat  himself  to  a  neatly  twisted  mass  of  pig-tail.  His 


18  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

unsophisticated  disciples  wondered  at  his  taste,  and  even 
questioned  his  judgment,  but  his  will  being  sovereign,  no 
one  dared  gainsay  it. 

The  circuit-preacher  would  often  call,  as  he  wound  his 
solitary  way  over  the  bleak,  dreary  road,  to  hear  them 
spell,  and  to  question  them  on  things  in  general,  and  on 
the  Scriptures  in  particular.  How  they  loved  to  hear  him  ! 

"  Milton  Hazlewood,  do  you  know  who  made  you,  my 
son  ?"— 

"  Yes,  s-i-r  ;   God." 

"Who  made  God,  Mr.  Smith?"  cried  little  Jimmy 
Grimes. 

"Jimmy,  be  quiet — it  is  not  your  put-in — you  are  too 
quick  on  trigger ;  can't  you  be  easy  ? — sit  down,  sir." 

The  little  fellow  obeyed  the  mandate  of  his  tutor,  and 
wriggled  himself  back  to  his  seat,  without  once  moving  his 
eyes  from  the  pleasant  face  of  the  preacher,  so  eager  was 
he  to  have  the  mystery  explained.  His  eyes  were  full  of 
inquiry  and  thought.  How  many  American  heroes  took 
their  first  lessons  in  just  such  a  school-house,  and  how 
fondly  and  truly  memory  has  retained,  through  all  the 
glories  and  trials  of  human  ambition  and  worldly  greatness, 
the  loved  scenes  of  their  boyhood,  and  always  the  dear 
old  school-house,  the  platform  of  so  many  harmless  pranks, 
heroic  adventures  and  daring  deeds. 

The  "Wolf-Gap"  school-house  had  its  heroes;  for  when 
some  poor  chap,  "  less  lucky  than  the  rest,"  vented  his 
jealousy,  by  pulling  Elinor's  hair — rubbing  out  her  sum — 
or  staining  h«r  face  with  poke-berries,  there  were  a  dozen  to 
show  him  fight.  If  the  younger  ones  could  not  succeed  in 
chastising  him,  as  they  imagined  he  deserved,  Theodore 


MRS.  BEN  DARBT.  19 

Harper,  the  oldest,  and  the  most  studious  of  the  class, 
would  unbend  his  mind  from  his  Virgil,  and  drub  him, 
until  he  cried  enough. 

Ten  years  had  passed  since  little  Elinor  had  become  an 
inmate  of  her  grandfather's  house.  During  that  period, 
her  father  had  paid  her  several  short  visits.  His  health 
was  still  precarious,  and  he  was  still  laboring  under  the 
same  mental  depression.  He  had  become  more  stern  and 
inflexible,  more  taciturn  and  studious ;  he  exhibited  less 
signs  of  suffering,  but  you  could  see  that  his  disorder  was 
permanently  settled,  and  beyond  restoration. 

He  was  trying,  about  this  time,  to  get  a  divorce  from  his 
wife.  The  why  and  wherefore  will  appear  in  due  time. 


20  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 


apter  3. 


ON  the  roadside,  about  a  mile  from  the  "  Gap,"  stood  a 
small  inn,  offering  humble  inducements  to  the  weary  trav 
eler  and  his  jaded  animal.  The  sign,  which  hung  from  a 
top-heavy  post,  presented  on  each  side,  crossed  keys.  The 
design  was  happy  in  its  signification,  but  would  not  have 
purchased  fame  for  its  aspiring  designer,  but  it  answered 
the  purpose  for  which  it  was  intended — that  is  not  always 
the  fate  of  the  best  achievements. 

The  bar-room,  as  it  was  called,  was  a  large  apartment, 
devoted  to  many  purposes.  It  was  the  general  reception 
room  for  men,  women,  and  children.  The  repository  of 
saddles,  baggage,  rifles,  game-bags,  fishing-tackle,  reaping- 
hooks,  flax-breaks,  and  loom-reeds,  etc.  One  corner  was 
ornamented  with  files  of  newspapers,  and  show-bills  of  va 
rious  descriptions,  which  had  been  brought  from  the  county 
court-house  below.  Over  the  chimney-piece  was  a  large 
representation  of  a  circus  which  was  going  the  rounds, 
"  low  down"  in  Petersburg  and  Richmond — wonderful  ex 
ploits  !  amazing  agility  !  unrivaled  velocity  !  Between  the 
front  windows  hung  a  small  looking-glass,  over  a  yard  of 
flowered  paper.  A  yankee  clock,  the  likeness  of  Jefferson 
and  Pocahontas,  ornamented  the  opposite  side  of  the  room. 

Every  hotel  or  domicil  for  the  entertainment  of  the  pub 
lic,  from  the  St.  Nicholas  and  Astor,  of  Broadway,  to  the 
log-cabin  inn  of  the  far  west,  has  its  peculiarities  in  form 
of  loungers.  They  become,  in  course  of  time,  identified 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  21 

* 
appendages  to  the  establishment.  They  differ  in  appearance, 

as  the  houses  they  frequent.  The  exquisite  lounger  on  the 
plush  sofas  of  the  city  hotels,  with  his  fashionable  moustache 
and  jockey  club  perfume,  is  represented  in  the  indolent, 
half-dressed  youth,  who  thrums  the  cords  of  a  cracked 
violin,  in  some  outlandish  country  tavern.  They  are  all 
devoted  patrons  of  the  establishment,  indorse  its  bills  of 
fare,  recommend  its  accommodations,  and  are  always  ready 
to  participate  in  the  hilarity  which  chance  might  throw  in 
their  way.  The  proprietor  of  the  Cross-Keys  was  a  man 
of  moderate  and  unimposing  pretensions.  The  appendage 
to  his  bar-room  was  Peter  Larkins,  who  was  always  on 
hand — fond  of  politics,  reading  newspapers,  and  getting  up 
items  —  he  attended  to  everybody's  business  but  his  own  ; 
he  left  that  for  his  wife  to  regulate  the  best  way  she  could. 
His  farm  was  always  out  of  order  —  his  fences  forever  on 
the  decline.  His  crop  was  invariably  put  in  long  after  he 
had  assisted  in  planting  those  of  his  friends',  and  was  sel 
dom  matured  or  gathered  in  as  it  should  have  been.  Some 
times  the  clairvoyant  animals  saved  him  the  trouble  of 
filling  his  barn,  by  pushing  over  the  crazy  fences  and  help 
ing  themselves.  His  house  was  once  a  snug  cottage ;  and 
would  still  have  been  so,  if  he  had  performed  his  part  as 
faithfully  outside,  as  his  thrifty  wife  managed  the  interior. 
His  orchard  was  exposed  to  the  depredations  of  the  vagrant 
cattle  and  boys  of  the  neighborhood.  Peter  Larkins  was 
one  of  the  best  creatures  in  the  world  to  help  one  in  a 
pinch,  but  he  was  always  in  a  pinch  himself.  He  never  had 
time  to  do  this  or  that,  at  home — and  things  about  his  pre 
mises  insinuated  that  the  master  was  from  home. 

His  gate  had  been  swinging  on  one  hinge  for  more  than 


22  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

a  year,  and  if  it  had  been  any  gate  but  his,  it  would  undoubt 
edly  have  been  down  ;  but  Peter  worked  at  it  so  carefully, 
and  so  good  naturedly  in  his  outgoings  and  incomings,  to 
preserve  its  standing  ;  and  if  any  one  was  with  him,  he 
always  remarked,  in  a  palliative  tone,  "well,  I'll  fix  ^ou  be 
fore  a  coon's  age,  if  I  live  so  long ;"  but  it  was  -never 
repaired  to  my  knowledge.  The  sweep  of  the  well  was 
put  in  wrong,  and  it  always  remained  so,  for  Peter  never 
had  a  moment  to  spare  to  remedy  the  evil.  He  was  the 
life  of  every  gathering  for  miles  around.  He  was  strong 
at  a  logrolling  —  a  whole  hand  at  a  corn-shucking  and 
house-raising.  His  jovial  demeanor  secured  him  a  welcome 
everywhere,  and  his  merry  songs  and  popular  witticisms 
were  well  received  in  his  circle  of  acquaintances.  Peter 
had  one  fault  which  engendered  a  multitude  of  evils.  He 
loved  his  bottle  —  yes,  better  than  his  wife,  children,  or 
friends,  for  he  would  sit  for  whole  days,  sipping  his  mug,  at 
the  "  Cross-Keys,"  and  forget  that  his  wife  had  no  wood, 
and  that  his  sick  boy  needed  medicine,  or  that  his  unruly 
beasts,  as  he  called  them,  had  gotten  into  his  fields  and 
trampled  down  his  blades,  which  were  growing  so  thrifty. 

Peter  knew  his  failing,  and  boasted  that  he  could  leave 
off  whenever  it  suited  him  ;  that  the  little  he  drank  never 
"faized,"  him,  and  that  his  wife  loved  him  just  as  well 
drunk,  as  sober,  and  swore  he  could  refrain  whenever  there 
was  a  "  needcessity"  for  it. 

Many  have  thought  the  same,  but  all  alike  have,  at  some 
time  or  other,  been  deceived.  It  is  easier  to  crush  an  evil 
in  the  bud,  than  to  grapple  with  it  when  it  is  strong  enough 
to  master  us.  The  poor  heedless  fly,  that  makes  so  many 
perilous  revolutions  about  the  blaze  of  a  candle,  is  very 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  23 

* 
sure  to  perish  in  the  flame.    "  Touch  not,  taste  not,"  should 

be  the  motto  of  every  one  who  finds  a  temptation  in  ardent 
spirits. 

It  was  a  beautiful  clear  evening  in  the  month  of  May. 
The  sun  was  just  sinking  behind  the  mountain-tops,  when 
a  small  carriage  stopped  at  the  door  of  the  Cross-Keys.  A 
young  man,  dressed  very  handsomely,  but  bearing  about 
him  indubitable  marks  of  reckless  and  dissipated  habits, 
alighted,  and  was  followed  by  one  of  less  imposing  appear 
ance,  wearing  a  white  hat  and  green  cravat.  He  held  the 
reins,  and  called  loudly  for  the  hostler.  Now  to  tell  the  truth, 
there  was  no  such  personage  at  the  Cross-Keys.  That  office 
was  generally  filled  by  any  one  that  happened  to  be  present. 
The  stranger  became  impatient  (for  everybody's  business 
is  very  sure  to  be  nobody's),  when  Peter  Larkins,  finding 
no  person  answered  the  call,  volunteered  his  services,  and 
approaching  the  stranger,  offered  to  hold  the  reins  until  the 
master  of  ceremonies  appeared. 

"You  are  the  landlord!"  said  the  young  man  ;  "have 
my  horse  put  up,  and  give  him  a  plenty  of  grub.  He  is 
the  finest  horse  in  the  '  Old  Dominion.'  " 

"Ah  1"  said  Peter. 

"  If  there  is  a  better  I  would  like  to  see  him,  /would, 
wouldn't  you,  Fairmont  ?"  .--.^,  v 

"  Be  blamed  if  I  wouldn't." 

"I  ask  pardon,"  says  Peter;  "here  comes  the  land 
lord,"  and  he  resigned  the  reins  to  the  negro  boy,  who 
came  whistling  after  his  master. 

The  strangers  were  ushered  into  the  bar-room,  and  after 
ordering  supper  and  lodgings  for  .the  night,  declared  that 
their  throats  were  dry  as  powder-horns.  The  bottles  were 


24  MRS.  BEN  DARBT. 

deposited  on  the  table,  and  they  helped  themselves  very 
liberally. 

If  the  reader  ever  traveled  through  the  mountains  of 
Virginia  before  the  beneficial  influence  of  the  temperance 
cause  penetrated  its  hills  and  valleys,  he  knows  better  than  I 
can  tell  him,  the  compliments  that  passed  on  that  occasion, 
and  the  simple  curiosity  displayed  by  those  who  had  so  few 
opportunities  of  hearing  or  seeing  what  was  going  on  in  the 
wide  world. 

"  Traveling,  strangers  ?"  asked  Larkins,  rubbing  his 
hands,  and  smiling  complacently. 

"  I  should  think  so,"  replied  the  hero  of  the  white 
hat. 

"  Well  I  don't  see  that  we  are  at  present,"  said  the 
younger  gentleman,  with  a  sinister  shrug  of  his  shoulders. 

"  No  offense,  Misters,  I  should  like  to  know  the  price  of 
corn  below,  as  may  be  you  are  from  Richmond  or  Peters 
burg." 

"  And  may  be  not,  what  then  ?" 

"  Why  still,  stranger,  you  might  know  the  price  of  corn," 
persisted  Peter. 

"  I  might,  and  I  might  not." 

"I  tell  you  what,  stranger,  it  is  very  dull  times  here,  very 
little  traveling  done  in  these  parts,  and  if  a  straggler  hap 
pens  to  drop  among  us,  why,  he  has  got  to  talk,  that's  cer 
tain  ;  it's  no  use  trying  to  shirk  out  of  it,  now,  there  aint, 
and  if  you  be  Yankee  peddlers,  why  there's  no  use  to  keep 
close,  for  you  can't  do  it,  indeed  you  can't ;  we'll  fan  you 
out ;  now,  can't  you  tell  us  the  price  of  corn  ?" 

Peter  knew  very  well  that  they  did  not  belong  to  that 
thriving,  sober,  money-making  race.  He  could  see  at  a 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  25 

glance,  that  they  were  wild,  reckless   outlaws,  no  matter 
where  they  originated. 

"Do  you  wish  to  speculate  on  the  articles  ?"  asked  the 
stranger. 

"I  never  specelate,"  said  Peter,  closing  the  only  button 
on  his  coat.  If  dame  Fortune  wants  to  see  me,  she  can 
come,  if  not,  why,  she  may  send  her  daughter  and  be 
darned  to  her." 

"  Who  is  that  ?" 

"  Why  Miss  Fortune,  to  be  sure,"  and  Peter  walked  to 
the  door. 

"  Stop,"  cried  the  oldest  of  the  travelers,  familiarly 
touching  him  on  the  shoulder  ;  "  you  are  a  character — a 
devilish  clever  fellow  ;  I  like  your  grit.  Come,  take  a 
drink  to  better  acquaintance.  My  name  is  Simon  Fairmont, 
and  yours " 

"  And  mine  is  Peter  Larkins,  at  your  service  ;  success  to 
you,  sir,  whatever  may  be  your  enterprise." 

"Why,  you  are  a  regular  blunderbuss  ;  come,  sit  down, 
sir,  and  let's  have  a  chat,  my  fine  fellow.  Do  you  call 
this  a  town  ?" 

"  Some  call  it  one  thing,  and  some  call  it  another.  It  is 
called  the  Key  Settlement — Blunderville,  and  a  dozen  more 
names;  but  you  see,  stranger,  it  is  a  very  scarce  place,  and 
considerably  scattered.  It  could  not  be  called  a  town  only 
in  derision.  It  has  no  church,  no  court-house — they  be  at 
the  other  end  of  the  county." 

"You  have  a  school-house,  it  is  to  be  hoped." 

"  We  did  have  one  over  by  the  blacksmith-shop,  but  it 
fell  through." 

"  Was  any  one  killed  ?" 


26  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

"  No  sir  !  the  schoolmaster,  I  mean  ;  the  house  is  there 
still." 

"  What  befell  him  ?" 

"Why,  you  see,  stranger,  he  come  here  well  recom 
mended,  but  after  awhile  he  began  to  show  his  cloven  foot." 

"  Ah  !  in  what  respect  ?" 

"He  turned  out  a  regular  old  swigger  —  got  drunk, 
and  beat  the  young  ones  black  and  blue,  the  scamp  ;  so  we 
turned  him  off." 

"  You  did  right ;  schoolmasters  have  no  right  to  in 
dulge  ;  it  is  preposterous.  It  is  a  very  responsible  situ 
ation." 

"  Yes  sir  ;  we  sent  him  looming.  His  name  was  God 
frey  ;  the  boys  used  to  steal  his  liquor,  and  when  he  found 
it  out,  they  laughed  in  his  face,  and  said  they  thought 
'Godfrey's  cordial'  was  good  for  children." 

"  That  was  not  slow,"  said  the  stranger,  laughing. 

"  A  man,"  said  Peter,  drawing  himself  up,  "  ought  al 
ways  to  know  when  to  stop." 

"  Ah  !  my  jolly  friend,  there's  where  you  mistake  your 
self.  If  a  man  wants  to  keep  clear  of  the  critter,  he  had 
better  not  begin.  It  is  easier  beginning  than  stopping.  I 
have  been  ten  years  trying  to  reform,  and  every  year  I  go 
deeper  and  deeper,  and  now,  sir,  I  live  on  it,  but  I  get 
along  very  happily.  Have  you  no  dry  goods  stores  or  gro 
ceries  in  this  benighted  place  ?" 

"  We  had  one  store  here,"  replied  Larkins,  "where  they 
kept  a  little  of  everything  ;  but  they  sold  out  their  last 
stock,  which  was  a  piece  of  red  flannel,  and  a  lot  of  hoe- 
handles,  and  some  hoes  without  handles,  and  went  off  to 
try  their  luck  in  Indihanna." 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  27 

"  No  lawyers?"  asked  the  stranger. 

"  What  do  we  want  with  such  varmints  here  ?  we  have 
no  court-house  ;  it  is  at  the  county-seat." 

"  How  do  you  settle  your  affairs  when  you  go  to  logger 
heads  ?" 

"  Mighty  little  wool  to  gather  in  these  parts,  stranger  ; 
Squire  Temple,  to  be  sure,  does  now  and  then  have  a  case. 
As  for  my  part,  I  never  have  any  difficilties  to  settle.  Jim 
Roane  and  Sam  Johnson  settle  theirs  with  their  fists." 

"  That  is  the  way  I  settle  mine,"  said  the  traveler.  "  It 
costs  less,  and  is  sooner  done.  Now  tell  me — but  stop,  wet 
your  whistle  first."  The  younger  man  filled  the  glass  and 
handed  it  to  Peter. 

"After  you,  sir,  is  manners,"  said  Larkins,  bowing  pro 
foundly  ;  his  bright  eye  twinkled  with  delight  at  his  good 
luck,  and  the  cordiality  which  the  gentlemen  seemed  ready 
to  bestow  upon  him.  His  vanity  was  becoming  supreme. 
Peter  could  not  see  deeper  than  the  surface.  He  was  sim 
ple  and  ingenuous  himself,  and  such  persons  are  rarely  sus 
picious. 

His  companions  had  arrived  at  the  desired  point,  and 
were  about  to  broach  the  subject  of  their  visit  to  the  Key 
settlement. 

"  This  is  fine  old  mountain-dew,"  said  Fairmont. 

"It  is  double  ractified,"  replied  Peter,  smacking  his 
lips." 

"  You  spoke  just  now  of  Squire  Temple  ;  where  does  he 
live  ?"  inquired  Fairmont. 

"  About  a  mile  up  the  road  ;  his  place  is  called  Wolf- 
Gap." 

"  A  horribly  savage  name." 


28  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

"  In  early  times,"  continued  Peter,  "  it  was  famous  for 
wild  varmints,  but  it  is  a  nice  plantation  now  ;  the  old  mas 
ter  has  lots  of  niggers,  and  plenty  of  money.  He  goes 
down  every  year  to  Petersburg  with  his  crop." 

"He  has  a  daughter?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  as  fine  a  lady  as  there  is  in  the  Blue-Ridge 
valley,  and  very  handsome." 

"How  old?" 

"  In  the  neighborhood  of  twenty-five." 

"  And  cords  of  money  ?"  said  the  young  gentleman, 
smiling  sarcastically.  "  Does  she  wish  to  marry  ?" 

"I  can't  say,"  replied  Peter,  "she  has  had  a  power  of 
chances,  and  good  ones  at  that.  The  women  have  their 
own  notions  about  matters  and  things." 

"  Twenty-five,  and  not  willing  to  marry  !  Here,  take 
the  bottle  and  have  it  filled,  landlord  ;  I  must  drink  her 
health  ;  she  is  a  most  wonderful  woman.  Is  she  the  only 
child  ?" 

"  No,  sir;  he  has  a  son  married,  and  living  in  New  York." 

A  sly  look  passed  between  the  gentlemen,  but  it  was  lost 
on  Larkins,  who,  by  this  time,  was  getting  "unco  fou," 
and  had  long  since  passed  the  Rubicon. 

"Take  another  glass,  Mr.  Larkins;  help  yourself — don't 
be  backward.  This  is  the  key  that  unlocks  the  treasures 
of  the  soul — honor,  generosity  and  confidence.  When  I 
have  drank  with  a  man,  I  call  him  friend — my  brother — 
and  feel  as  if  bound  by  an  indissoluble  tie.  It  makes  us 
freemasons  in  many  respects.  But  tell  me,  my  friend,  has 
not  the  Squire  a  grand-daughter  ?" 

"  He  has,  and  she  has  lived  with  him  ever  since  she  was 
a  baby."  Here  Peter  related  the  circumstances  mentioned 


MBS.  BEN  DABBT.  29 

in  a  former  chapter — how  he  had  surprised  the  family  with 
-his  Christmas  present. 

"  Where  is  her  mother?"  asked  Fairmont,  turning  his 
eyes  toward  the  younger  gentleman. 

"I  never  heard  anything  about  the  mother,"  replied 
Larkins.  The  child  has  been  brought  up  by  her  aunt,  for 
the  Squire  himself  is  a  widower. 

The  stranger  looked  around  the  room,  and  finding  they 
were  alone,  drew  his  chair  closer  to  Peter. 

"Friend  Larkins — I  call  you  friend,  because  we  have 
touched  glasses — and  I  believe  you  to  be  a  whole-souled 
fellow — I  would  like  to  enlist  your  services  in  a  little  affair — 
a  trifling  matter  of  my  companion's  here — but  before  I  let 
you  into  my  confidence,  I  must  be  assured  that  you  will 
not  betray  me." 

"  I  never  did  the  like,"  cried  Peter,  pompously.  "Do  I 
look  like  a  Judas  Iscariot  ?"  His  head  was  entirely  mysti 
fied  by  the  fumes  of  the  strong  liquor  he  had  taken,  and  it 
was  with  great  difficulty  he  could  comprehend  his  com 
panion. 

"  Well,  Larkins,  you  must,  in  the  first  place,  swear  to 
keep  my  secret,  or  rather  the  secret  of  my  friend." 

"  I  swear  pine  blank,"  replied  Peter,  striking  the  table, 
"I  hope  the  devil  may  roast  me  alive  if  ever  I  tell  it.  I 
am  at  your  ser-ser-vice  by  — : — " 

"  You  will  observe,  in  the  first  place,  Mr.  Larkins,  that 
this  is  my  friend  Mr.  Ben  Darby  ;  he  is  on  a  visit  to  little 
Miss  Temple." 

"Now  do  tell  me,"  said  Peter,  opening  his  eyes  and  mouth. 

"  We  will  take  another  glass,  and  then  I  will  let  you  into 
our  designs." 


30  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

"  No  harm  to  the  Squire,"  said  Peter,  as  the  last  pellucid 
idea  floated  through  his  foggy  brain;  "  I  can't  stand  that, 
sir — no  sir." 

"  None  in  the  world,  my  man,"  said  Mr.  Ben  Darby, 
bending  his  serpent-like  eyes  full  upon  the  countenance  of 
his  new  acquaintance  ;  "  come,  take  another  drink  and  I 
will  tell  you  what  we  are  in  for.  Now,  sir,  we  mean  no 
evil ;  all  I  want  is  the  Squire's  little  grand-daughter." 

"  All  you  want,  sir,  is  Elinor  Temple?" 

"  That  is  the  idea  ;  she  does  not  belong  by  rights  to  the 
Squire." 

"  No  she  d-don't" — and  Peter  laughed  with  his  mouth 
wide  open. 

"  She  is  the  property  of  another." 

"  She  is,  I  be  dog ed,  if  she  ishn't,"  said  Larkins, 

trying  hard  to  hold  himself  up. 

"  And  we  will  not  leave  the  place  without  her  ;  do  you 
understand  it  all,  Mr.  Larkins  ?" 

"  I  stands  under  it  all,  Mr.  Larkins,"  said  Peter,  laugh 
ing,  and  snapping  his  fingers  comically  at  his  new  friend. 

"  We  must  have  her,"  said  Darby,  firmly.    .' 

"  We  will  have  her,  by  thunder,"  cried  Larkins,  reeling 
to  the  door  ;  "  she  will  go  it — hang  my  hat." 

Peter  Larkins,  where  now  is  your  boasted  self-control, 
that  balance  of  mind  which  has  so  long  held  you  above  the 
level  of  the  brute  creation  ?  Temptation  has  at  last  over 
come  you,  has  found  you  accessible  even  to  ruin.  The  good 
qualities  which  have  so  long  lingered  in  your  nature  in  de 
spite  of  your  habits,  are  about  to  succumb  at  last.  You  can 
never  again  say  that  the  little  you  drink  never  faizes  you — 
that  you  can  refrain  when  there  is  a  needcessity  for  it.  Let 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  31 

temptation  come  in  what  form  it  may,  there  is  a  moral  cou 
rage  in  man  sufficient  to  resist  evil  and  sustain  goodness ; 
God  has  endowed  his  creatures  with  this  living  principle. 
Some  have  infringed  upon  it  until  it  has  become  feeble,  and 
some  have,  by  perverseness,  destroyed  it  without  remedy. 
Man  has  power  to  control  his  passions.  God  made  him 
perfect,  and  fashioned  him  after  his  own  divinity ;  he  has 
the  capability  to  reflect  and  retract,  and,  like  the  diamond, 
to  resist  all  meaner  frictions.  Let  no  man  say  that  he  can 
indulge  in  the  habitual  use  of  ardent  spirits  without  the  fear 
of  being  some  time  or  other  overcome :  if  he  even  takes  it 
drop  by  drop,  it  falls  deeper  and  deeper  into  his  nature, 
until  it  corrodes  and  blackens  the  sanctity  of  his  heart,  and 
entirely  defaces  from  it  the  impress  of  Deity,  and  man 
becomes  degraded  and  demonized. 


32  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 


The  brand  is  on  thy  brow, 

Yet  I  must  shade  the  spot; 
For  who  will  love  thee  now, 

If  I  IOTC  thee  not. — BAKRY  CORNWALL. 

PETER  became  so  intoxicated  that  he  was  totally  useless 
to  his  new  confederates,  as  an  instrument  in  the  accom 
plishment  of  their  designs,  and  at  a  late  hour  of  the  night 
he  left  his  companions  and  undertook  to  find  his  way  home. 
Home  !  what  does  the  drunkard  know  about  that  "  hal 
lowed  spot  ?" — that  word  so  full  of  the  heart's  best  emo 
tions  ?  the  cynosure  of  all  that  is  glorious  in  man  and 
beautiful  in  woman  ! 

Peter  sought  the  way  to  his  house.  It  was  not  very  far 
from  the  Cross-Keys.  It  seemed,  however,  to  our  friend  to 
be  lengthening  as  he  went.  He  wondered  again  and  again 
why  it  had  become  so  remote  and  unapproachable ;  and 
then  he  was  completely  amazed  at  finding  the  orchard 
removed  to  the  front  of  the  building,  and  for  what  purpose 
it  had  been  done,  or  how  it  had  been  accomplished,  were 
both  alike  incomprehensible.  He  would  stop,  shut  his 
eyes,  rub  them  and  open  them  again  to  see  if  he  was 
deceived.  No,  it  was  no  deception — no  optical  illusion. 
The  gate,  which  so  long  patiently  moved  to  and  fro  on  its 
solitary  hinge,  had  at  last  become  refractory  and  threatened 
to  pitch  him  over,  in  defiance  of  all  his  tender  expostula 
tions.  The  old,  one-sided  well-sweep,  working  up  and 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  33 

doAvn,  like  the  piston-rod  of  a  Mississippi  steamer,  brought 
him  to  a  stand.  Looking  around  in  idiotic  amazement,  he 
beheld  several  figures  arranged,  as  he  thought,  in  military 
order,  in  front  of  his  corn-crib. 

"Now,  if  it  was  only  muster  day,"  said  he,  trying  in 
vain  to  steady  himself  by  the  fence — "  if  it  was,  I  would 
-say  that  was  Captain  Graham ;  I  know  him  by  his  faa-ther. 
Halloo,  Captain  Graham!" 

The  turkey-gobbler  flew  down  from  the  fence  and  uttered 
a  guttural  salutation. 

"  Drunk,  did  you  say  ?  Darn  your  eyes,  I  '11  learn  you 
better  manners — you  military  heathen  you!" 

In  stooping  to  pick  up  a  stone  to  throw  at  the  offender, 
he  fell  prostrate.  His  poor  wife,  who  had  been  sitting  xip, 
trying  hard  to  keep  down  the  bitterness  of  her  feelings  by 
singing  and  talking  to  her  baby,  dreading  she  knew  not 
what,  for  her  husband  did  not  often  stay  out  so  very  late, 
unless  he  was  at  a  frolic  : 

"  Oh  !  Peter,  dear,  what  is  the  matter  ?  Has  it  come  to 
this  at  last?" 

"  Yes,  by  G !  I  'm  come  at  last — why  don't  you  let 

me  in?" 

"  Go  in ;  I  don't  prevent  you." 

"  Open  the  door,  then — " 

"It  is  open;  see,  this  way.  Oh!  Peter,  I  would  be 
ashamed  of  myself,  indeed  I  would,  to  act  in  this  way. 
Oh  !  it  is  too  bad." 

"  What 's  to  pay,  Susan  ?" 

"  To  see  you  so  drunk,  Peter!" 

"  I  'm  not  so  drunk,  Mrs.  Larkins  !" 

"  Not  drunk !     Oh  !  dear  me,  Peter,  how  you  talk !" 


34  MRS.  BEN  DARBT. 

•  "  No,  Susy,  dear,  but  I  swal-lowed  a  cigar — and  am 
devilish  shick!" 

His  wife  contrived,  delicate  as  she  was,  to  balance  him 
up  and  get  him  into  the  house — but  he  was,  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  boisterous  and  unruly.  It  was  in  vain  she 
tried  to  soothe  him  with  gentle  and  loving  words — he 
became  worse  and  worse.  She  then  bethought  her  of  her 
kind  neighbor's  maxim — "that  to  give  a  drunken  man  soft 
words,  was  casting  pearls  before  swine  ;"  so  she  commenced 
scolding.  The  experiment  proved  hazardous  —  Peter 
became  outrageous — stormed  and  raved — broke  everything 
that  came  in  his  way— seized  his  wife  by  the  throat  and 
nearly  choked  her  to  death.  The  little  boy  ran  out  and 
cried  with  all  his  force,  but  it  being  so  late  in  the  night,  no 
one  came  to  his  assistance.  Susan,  at  last,  succeeded  in 
pushing  him  over  on  to  the  child's  cradle,  and  before  he 
could  recover  his  feet,  she  had  made  her  escape,  with  her 
two  children.  She  knocked  at  her  nearest  neighbor's  door. 

"  Come  in,  Susy;  I  know  it  is  you,  child,"  said  Mrs. 
Grimes  ;  "  I  heard  all  the  fuss." 

"Oh!  Mrs.  Grimes,"  said  Susan,  "you  always  said  it 
would  come  to  this." 

"  Never  mind,  child,  sit  up  by  the  fire  and  warm  your 
self — it  is  very  chilly — you  shake  like  you  had  an  ager-fit" 

The  kind  woman  put  the  children  in  bed,  and  drawing 
her  chair  closely  to  her  distressed  visitor,  endeavored  to 
cheer  her  the  best  way  she  could. 

"  Mrs.  Grimes,"  said  Susan,  "  all  my  comfort  is  gone 
forever !  Peter  was  always  so  good  and  kind,  so  pleasant 
at  home  and  abroad.  Never  before,  when  he  has  taken 
too  much,  has  he  spoken  a  cross  word  to  me — I  always 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY?  35 

thought,  if  ever  matters  did  come  to  the  worst,  he  would 
always  be  good-natured  and  gentle." 

"  Kind  and  gentle !  how  foolish  you  are,  child.  Let  me 
tell  you,  liquor  changes  the  head — the  heart — and  the  eyes 
and  ears — and  it  gives  the  tongue  a  very  different  wag — 
don't  you  know  it  does  ?  I  pity  you  from  my  soul — but 
say,  dear,  what  has  lifted  him  so  ? — where  has  he  been 
and  who  has  he  been  with  ?  Man's  company  is  his 
making  or  his  undoing." 

"  Down  at  the  Cross-Keys,  and  he  did  not  come  home 
until  just  a  while  ago." 

"  It  cannot  be  helped  now,  Susy  dear,  so  come  lie  down 
and  try  to  rest." 

"  Mrs.  Grimes,  you  are  so  good — but  how  can  I  sleep 
when  poor  Peter  is  at  home  by  himself  dead  drunk?" 

"  Why,  he  is  as  happy  as  a  lord  mayor." 

"  But  the  house  might  take  fire !" 

"If  it  should,  it  wouldn't  matter  much  if  he  went  with 
it — good  riddance  to  bad  rubbish,  say  I !" 

"  But,  Mrs.  Grimes,  he  is  my  husband,  and  the  father 
of  my  children !" 

"  They  would  be  better  off  without  him — and  you  too, 
child,  if  he  keeps  on  this  way." 

"  Home  has  always  been  the  world  to  me,"  said  Mrs. 
Larkins,  weeping — "it  is  precious  seldom  I  ever  thought 
of  going  out — my  heart  is  too  heavy." 

"  No  woman  feels  like  it,  that  has  a  drunkard  tied  to 
her — that  is,  if  she  has  the  feelings  of  a  mother  and  wife." 

"What  hurts  me  the  most,"  said  Susan,  "is  that  the 
day  should  ever  come  that  would  find  me  afraid  of  my 
husband — the  man  I  left  my  old  father  and  mother  for. 


36  MKS.  BEN  DARBY. 

When  I  was  first  married  everybody  said  I  had  done  so 
well,  for  everybody  loved  Peter — Oh !  dear  me,  I  almost 
wish  I  was  dead !" 

"  Hush,  child,  don't  blaspheme — you  ought  to  be  glad 
you  are  alive ;  but,  Susan,  it  spoils  folks  to  make  too  much, 
of  them.  When  a  young  man  shows  a  disposition  to  make 
himself  so  very  popular,  and  so  very  agreeable  to  every 
one — going  to  this  frolic  and  that — he  is  very  apt  to  be  led 
astray ;  and  I  have  told  Larkins  so  a  thousand  times ;  but 
come,  child,  lay  yourself  down  and  try  and  sleep." 

"  Oh !  there  's  no  comfort  for  me,  Mrs.  Grimes,  in  this 
wide  world — " 

The  tears  fell  very  fast  and  thick  on  the  pale  cheek  of  the 
innocent  and  wronged  wife. 

"No  comfort — no!  no!" 

It  was  long  before  the  last  heavy  sigh  of  the  unhappy 
wife  was  still  in  slumber.  Oh,  sleep !  soother  of  the  stain 
less  mourner — nothing  but  remorse  can  ward  thee  off;  pain 
and  grief  are  sometimes  lost  in  thy  oblivion.  Sleep  brings 
back  to  our  grasp  the  joys,  the  pleasures,  and  the  hopes 
lost  long  ago.  We  embrace,  beneath  thy  canopy,  the  loved 
ones  of  the  tomb.  Their  smiles  return  like  the  beams  of 
morning — renewed  in  beauty.  We  retrace  the  paths  of 
light  and  roses — drink  at  the  fountain  of  youth,  and  forget 
the  fetters  that  chain  us  to  the  rock  of  life.  Pain,  sorrow, 
and  death,  are  all  forgotten. 

Peter,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  had  rested  all  night  on 
the  kitchen  floor,  and  when  daylight  appeared,  he  groped 
his  way  into  his  wife's  bed,  without  removing  the  fine  white 
quilt,  or  his  dirty  boots.  The  fumes  of  his  last  night's  de 
bauchery  were  just  beginning  to  evaporate,  when  Susan 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  87 

presented  herself  at  the  door.  He  laid  quiet,  and  pretended 
to  be  asleep.  She  busied  herself  about  in  tidying  up  the 
room  and  getting  breakfast.  At  length,  when  all  was 
ready,  she  returned  to  call  him  up  to  breakfast. 

"  Is  the  sun  up,  Susy  dear?" 

"Long  ago." 

"  He  must  be  in  a  hurry,  for  I  ain't  been  long  down." 

"  Mrs.  Grimes  has  had  prayers  long  ago." 

"  You  don't  say  so  ?" 

"And  John  has  gone  to  mill." 

"  It  is  time  for  me  to  resuscitate,  I  suppose,"  said  Peter, 
trying  to  get  up. 

"  It  will  not  be  much  trouble  to  get  ready  for  breakfast, 
for  I  see  you  have  your  hat  and  boots  on — all  you  have  to 
do  is  to  walk  to  it." 

"  All !  yes,  I  guess  it  is  all — and  I  am  devilish  stiff — 
couldn't  you  make  the  table  come  up  this  way  ? — now,  do 
try,  Susy." 

"  Susan  Larkins  !"  cried  Mrs.  Grimes,  thrusting  her 
head  through  the  window,  "  come  to  your  young  ones,  and 
leave  that  drunken  brute.  Let  him  take  care  of  himself. 
I  would  let  him  see  if  I  would  notice  him  after  his  hateful 
prank — I  would  be  for  making  as  much  fuss  over  him  as 
if  he  was  just  elected  clerk  of  the  court,  the  mean  sneak — 
Susy,  I  am  ashamed  of  you " 

While  Mrs.  Larkins  was  gone  for  her  children,  Peter 
hurried  over  to  the  Cross-Keys.  He  had  not  been  long  in 
the  bar-room  before  his  new  acquaintances  made  their  ap 
pearance  in  high  spirits. 

"Well,  Mr.  Larkins,"  said  Mr.  Fairmont,  grasping  him 
familiarly  by  the  hand,  "  I  think  we  will  try  and  see  how 


38  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

the  land  lies,  to-day.  You  say  it  is  just  a  mile  to  Mr. 
Temple's  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  good  measure — not  to  say  anything  of  the 
clover-field  that  we  turn,  when  we  strike  the  barn." 

"  I  don't  mean  to  strike  a  thing,"  replied  Fairmont, 
"  unless  it  comes  in  my  way." 

"  The  barn  will  be  certain  to  do  that,"  replied  Peter, 
"  it  always  serves  me  so  ; — but,  say,  stranger,  what  was 
you  telling  last  night,  about  a  child  that  belonged  to  the 
gentleman  with  the  whiskers — you  really  don't  mean  to  say 
that  it  is  little  Elinor  Temple  that  you  are  after  ?" 

"  The  same,  sir  ;  but  come,  let 's  take  some  bitters  this 
morning,  Mr.  Larkins,  it  will  refresh  your  memory.  You 
are  in  for  it,  sir — no  backing  out." 

"  That  child,  Mr.  Fairmont — excuse  me,  sir,  I  would  as 
soon  promise  to  sell  my  wife  to  a  nigger  buyer,  as  to  touch 
that  child — why,  it  would  not  be  according  to  nature  to  do 
it.  Why,  sir,  she  is " 

"  It  matters  not  what  she  is,"  said  Darby,  "  she  is  mine, 
and  I  intend  to  have  her.  I  only  want  you  to  show  us  the 
way.  I  see  that  Fairmont  is  getting  too  drunk  to  be  of 
much  service.  He  is  getting  into  one  of  his  big  sprees " 

"Explain,  if  you  please,"  said  Larkins,  addressing  Fair 
mont. 

"Sir,  you  are  too  drunk  to  comprehend  matters,"  said 
Darby,  proudly,  "even  if  Fairmont  was  able  to  explain, 
which  I  am  sorry  to  say  is  not  the  case.  When  he  sets  in, 
there  is  no  knowing  when  or  where  he  ends  ;  he  goes  the 
whole  hog." 

"  Mr.  Darby — sir,"  replied  Peter,  drawing  himself  up, 
"  being  as  you  have  not  drank  any,  and  being  as  you  were 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  30 

born  since  Solomon,  and  had  the  benefit  of  a  college  edifica 
tion,  perhaps  you  could  find  words  to  explain  some  faint 
idee  of  what's  in  the  wind  ;  for  I'll  eat  fire,  if  it  is  not  all 
lignum  vitee  to  me — now  it  is." 

"  We  want  you  to  meet  us  here  this  evening,  and  conduct 
us  to  'Squire  Temple's.  Fairmont  will  reconnoiter  about 
the  '  Gap,'  so  that  he  can  see  the  child  when  she  returns 
from  school.  In  this  way  there  will  be  no  mistake.  A 
blunder  in  this  matter  would  be  embarrassing." 

"  I'll  wash  my  hands  of  the  whole  matter  as  far  as  I'm 
concerned,"  cried  Peter,  who  was  beginning  to  feel  very 
magnanimous.  "  I'd  sooner  run  my  head  into  a  hollow 
gum  full  of  bee,s,  than  to  harm  anybody,  'specially  a  man 
like  the  '  'Squire ;'  the  truest  friend  a  man  ever  had,  and 
as  to  stealing  that  child,  why,  cut  my  head  off,  if  I  wouldn't 
as  lief  commit  susansides  /" 

"  Mr.  Larkins  !  Mr.  Larkins  !  you  forget  your  promise — 
your  oath." 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  be  Mr.  Larkinsing  me,  for  when  I  put 
my  foot  down,  it's  thar — it  is,"  and  Peter  looked  Mount 
Atlas  at  him. 

"  I  promise  you,  harm  shall  come  to  no  one — we  only 
want  the  child." 

"  Only  the  child!"  repeated  he,  "they'd  rather  lose 
everything  else." 

"  And  you  refuse  to  help  us  ?" 

"I  do." 

"  You  spoke  very  differently  last  night,"  chimed  in  Fair 
mont,  who  was  again  so  drunk  he  could  scarcely  see — 

"You  are  a  d pretty  bird  ;  come,  take  a  little  of  this, 

my  fellow,  and  y-your  head  will  be  d-d clear — so  it 


40  MRS.  BEN  DARBI. 

will.  This  is  the  best  liquor  in  the  world — n-none  of  your 
d-d poke-juice." 

Peter  took  a  long,  deep  draught — wiped  his  mouth  on 
his  coat-sleeve,  and  stood  looking  quizzically  at  the  bestial 
countenance  of  his  companion.  Both  were  drunk,  and 
neither  had  the  full  exercise  of  his  reason  ;  yet  there  was  a 
strong  contrast.  Poor  Peter,  with  all  his  ignorance,  all  his 
child-like  simplicity,  still  retained  in  his  nature,  principles 
of  honor,  and  virtue  had  not  been  entirely  destroyed — there 
were  roots  enough  left  to  germinate.  The  milk  of  human 
kindness  still  flowed  through  his  veins.  His  companion  had 
battled  longer  with  the  arch-fiend  ;  every  manly  quality  had 
long  since  been  shattered.  He  had  commenced  in  very 
early  youth  his  reckless  course,  and  lost,  by  degrees,  all  the 
precious  gifts  of  the  soul.  The  fiery  fluid  had  seared  every 
bud  of  promise,  and  not  one  solitary  principle  of  rationality 
came  to  perfection.  The  poison  had  penetrated  every  cell 
of  the  heart — mixed  itself  with  every  growing  fiber,  and 
every  impetus  of  feeling,  until  the  whole  system  felt  its  dele 
terious  influence. 

Young  Darby  was  still  another  variety  of  the  inebriate. 
His  surface  was  fair.  You  would  not  dare  to  place  him 
among  drunkards  if  you  consulted  his  outward  appearance. 
You  would  certainly  be  disposed  to  consider  him  as  a  man, 
if  not  a  very  prepossessing  one.  I  compare  him  to  the  Sol  way 
moss — the  exterior  is  smooth,  quiet,  and  green  —  fresh, 
sometimes  bright,  but  all  beneath  is  a  troubled  mass  of 
putrid  fibers  of  heath,  which  shakes  at  every  pressure,  and 
often  pours  forth  its  turbid  fluid  to  the  destruction  of  all 
surrounding  objects. 

Mr.  Darby  could  drink  more  than  either  of  his  com- 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  41 

panions,  yet  he  was  never  called  an  inebriate.  He  was  always 
capable  of  attending  to  his  own  affairs,  and  also  the  con 
cerns  of  others.  He  was  hypocritical  and  insidious — very 
kandsome,  and  decidedly  a  man  of  the  world. 

Peter  Larkins  laid  drunk  about  the  benches  of  the  village 
tavern  all  day — too  drunk  to  be  sensible  of  the  position  he 
occupied.  Late  in  the  evening,  his  mind  seemed  to  receive 
a  sudden  impulse.  He  left  the  house  precipitately,  and  was 
seen  making  his  way  toward  "Wolf-Gap." 
4 


42  MBS.  BEN  DARBY. 


Chapter  5. 

"The  wanderer's  eye  could  barely  Yiew 

The  summer  heaven's  delicious  blue, 
^    So  wondrous  wild,  the  whole  might  seem 
The  scenery  of  a  fairy  dream." 

IT  was  near  the  middle  of  the  month  of  May.  The  little 
pale  pink  and  blue  blossoms  were  just  beginning  to  peep  out 
from  under  the  rubbish  of  winter.  All  along  the  sunny 
side  of  the  precipitous  rocks,  the  green  vines  were  creeping 
out  from  the  crevices,  and  twining  with  the  dogwood  and 
laurel.  The  cedars  and  hemlocks  were  casting  off  the  hues 
of  the  last  season  and  putting  on  livelier  attire.  The  wild 
bee  was  in  the  butternut  blossom,  and  the  gay  birds  were 
singing  merrily  in  the  boughs  of  the  wide-spread  chestnut- 
tree,  as  if  the  cares  and  privations  of  winter  were  all  for 
gotten.  Who  does  not  love  a  clear  sky  and  a  bright  spring- 
day  ?  Who  does  not  love  to  wander  abroad  among  God's 
works,  and  contemplate  his  power  in  the  formation  of  the 
simplest  flower  or  humblest  plant  ?  Who  has  not  paused 
to  examine  its  colors,  blending  so  mysteriously  together — the 
fashion  of  its  leaves,  interposing  so  harmoniously,  and  the 
upturned  cup  that  catches  the  dew-drop  which  sustains  it  ? 
Who  has  not  thought,  as  he  looked  into  the  deep,  blue 
bosom  of  the  lowly  violet,  "  he  who  formed  thee  is  all- 
powerful  ;  though  thou  art  but  a  speck,  none  but  the  Om 
nipresent  could  have  called  thee  forth  !  Thou  alone  whis- 
perest  to  us  that  there  is  a  God,  and  that  God  is  immac 
ulate  and  adorable." 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  43 

I  will  tell  you,  reader,  who  never  stops  to  view  the  glo 
rious  outpouring  of  nature's  joy — who  never  meditates  in 
solitude  on  the  arcana  of  Nature,  or  on  the  wise  adminis 
tration  of  the  great  Ruler  of  the  world  —  breaking  forth 
in  ejaculations  of  wonder,  love,  and  praise  to  Him  who 
has  formed  him  in  his  image.  Come  with  me,  reader,  and 
I  will  show  you  one  who  never  dreams  of  such  things,  and 
if  he  does,  it  is  in  the  fleeting  memories  of  his  youth, — one 
who  never  discriminates  between  a  blossom  and  a  worm, — 
one  who  never  looks  from  "  nature  up  to  nature's  God," 
but  moves  along  through  the  world  with  eyes  cast  down — he 
never  gazes  with  delight  upon  the  full,  bright  moon,  or  hails 
Aurora  as  she  rides  out  from  the  golden  portals  of  the  east, 
spreading  light  and  glory  from  hemisphere  to  hemisphere. 

Here  he  lies  by  the  side  of  a  still  little  brook,  that  winds 
its  way  through  the  meadow.  He  rests  upon  a  soft  velvet 
bank.  His  head  presses  a  mossy  pillow.  The  sunbeams 
are  dancing  on  the  shelving  rock  above  him.  The  wild 
blossoms  are  wooing  the  amorous  breeze.  The  mountain- 
rose  opens  its  bosom  to  the  honey-bee.  Beauty  is  all 
around — fresh,  unspotted  beauty.  The  robins  are  sporting 
over  his  head.  The  squirrels  are  peeping  out  from  the 
hollow  ash.  All  is  joy  about  him,  but  here  he  lies  like  a 
worried  dog. 

This,  reader,  is  the  habitual  drunkard;  he  is  scarcely 
ever  sober.  He  lies  here,  with  his  leaden  eyes,  dreamingly 
peering  forth  from  their  fiery  orbits.  The  rheum  from  their 
corners  stands  still  on  his  full,  black  lashes  like  cold  cream, 
and  the  saliva  running  in  small  rivulets  from  his  half-opened 
mouth.  His  countenance  has  that  half-brute,  half-human 
composure  of  features  which  gives  the  face  an  idiotic  ex- 


44  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

pression — the  undisputed  endowment  of  intoxication.  He 
has  not  chosen  this  little  ravine  because  he  loves  the  sylvan 
shades;  no,  he  lies  there,  in  the  first  place,  because  when 
he  fell  down  he  could  not  get  up  again  just  then ;  and  in 
the  second  place,  he  is  waiting  like  a  wolf  that  is  watching 
for  a  lamb. 

He  likes  his  soft  resting-place  much  better  than  he  some 
times  does  his  city  stopping-places,  where  there  are  so  many 
rude  persons  passing.  It  may  be  sweeter  than  the  kennel, 
but  he  does  not  know  the  difference. 

This  personage  is  Mr.  Fairmont;  he  has  been  in  the 
neighborhood  of  the  Gap  for  two  or  three  days.  He  has 
undertaken  a  daring  outrage,  but  he  is  too  drunk  to  carry 
it  into  execution.  He  has  been  trying  to  sober  down  long 
enough  to  accomplish  his  ends,  but  he  can't,  for  his  life,  re 
frain  or  curb  his  appetite  for  the  fatal  act. 

While  he  is  thus  luxuriously  reclining  on  his  mother 
earth,  the  wild  laughter  of  the  school  children  came  up 
from  the  creek  bottom,  mingling  with  the  noisy  fluttering 
of  the  geese,  which  the  heedless  urchins  had  frightened 
from  the  water,  in  their  merriment  and  glee.  Oh !  such  a 
rush  of  living,  glowing  joy.  The  clear,  sweet  tones  of 
childhood,  laughing,  screaming,  whistling,  singing,  and  the 
winged  creatures  making  chorus  in  the  highest  key — even 
the  dogs  could  not  resist  the  burst  of  animal  spirits,  but — 

"  For  joy  hae  bark  it  wi'  them." 

The  children  all  turned  off  from  the  woods,  into  the 
most  thickly  settled  part  of  the  valley ;  but  two  came 
down  the  pathway  leading  to  the  Gap.  One  was  a  fine- 
looking  boy,  about  fifteen  or  sixteen,  very  manly  and 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  46 

heroic -looting,  though  clad  in  homespun,  and  "wearing  a 
hat  of  braided  rye-straw.  His  clear  gray  eyes,  his  broad, 
full  brow,  and  the  finely  formed  lips  were  the  index  of  his 
character.  Firm,  frank,  courageous,  generous  even  to  a 
fault.  He  lived  on  Mr.  Temple's  plantation,  and  his  duty 
and  his  pleasure  never  chimed  so  pleasantly  together,  as 
when  he  was  escorting  Elinor  to  and  from  school.  She 
was  running  along  by  his  side,  her  little  calico  bonnet 
dangling  in  one  hand,  and  her  basket,  in  the  other.  Some 
times  she  would  set  her  things  down,  to  pluck  the  little 
flowers  that  peeped  at  her  from  the  hill-side,  or  to  chase  a 
rabbit,  that  had  started  so  close  from  her  feet,  that  it 
seemed  like  magic.  They  had  almost  run  upon  Mr.  Fair 
mont  before  they  saw  him.  Surprised  and  astonished, 
they  stopped  short,  and  the  girl  caught  the  hand  of  the 
lad,  looked  slyly  up  into  his  face,  to  see  if  all  was  right 
there — full  of  confidence  in  her  protector  (as  woman  should 
be  always),  she  calmly  awaited  the  result. 

"  Dang  my  b-buttons,  here  you  are  at  last." 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ?"  cried  the  boy,  giving  him 
a  hunch  in  the  short  ribs  with  his  foot,  "  get  up,  it  is 
almost  night — the  pigeons  are  going  to  roost." 

"  Time  to  be  going,  hey  ?  well,  you  needn't  be  telling 
me  so  ;  d-don't  I  know  it — d-don't  I  feel  it  is  time.  I  say, 
s-stop,  don't  leave  a  body." 

"Oh  !  we  must,  the  geese  are  going  home." 

"  Let  them  go,  and  be  d-darned.  This  is  a  dev'lish 
cool  place  here — you  see  I'm  cooling  off,  /am  I" 

"  I  hope  you  will,"  said  the  boy. 

"Now,  see  if  I  don't.  Say,  is  that  Squire  Temple's 
grand-daughter  ?" 


46  MBS.  BEN  DAEBT. 

"What  is  it  to  you,  who  she  is,"  said  Theodore — poor 
Elinor  clung  to  her  protector,  and  began  to  tremble  in 
every  limb;  "I'll  tell  you  the  next  time  I  see  you." 

"Stop  now,  d-don't  run,  wait  for  company  down  that 
d-deep  hollow." 

"  I  never  wait  for  any  but  good  company — come  Elinor, 
you  see  we  must  walk  fast — you  can't  walk,  sir,  one  of  your 
legs  is  shorter  than  the  other — see  now,  you  can't  move  it. 
Oh  !  yes,  I  see  how — up  again,  there,  that's  a  man." 

"  Do  come,  Theodore,"  said  Elinor,  pulling  his  arm. 

"  There,  he  is  up  once  more,"  cried  the  boy,  "  there, 
he  is  down  again — no,  not  quite — easy,  easy." 

"What  is  the  matter?  What  is  he  doing?"  asked 
Elinor. 

"He  is  trying  his  equilibrium,  as  our  master  used  to 
say." 

"  See,  Theodore,  he  is  almost  up  with  us ;  are  you  not 
afraid  of  him  ?" 

"  Afraid  of  a  drunkard  ?" 

"  Why  not  ?" 

"  Poor,  pitiful  wretch,  see  how  well  he  is  dressed,  too, 
a  nice  watch-chain  with  a  big  seal  to  it,  just  like  Mr.  Jef 
ferson  used  to  wear — it  is  as  big  as  my  thumb." 

"  I  wonder  who  he  is,"  said  Elinor. 

"Say,  stranger,"  cried  Theodore,  "what's  your  name?" 

"  None  of  your  business." 

"  That's  a  queer  name,  I  don't  know  any  one  in  these 
parts  so  called — where  do  you  live?" 

«  In  h 11 !" 

"'That's  just  what  I  thought,  so  good-bye — we  don't  go 
that  way." 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  47 

"Oh!  Theodore,  he  is  coining  on  —  see  how  he 
runs !" 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  you  mountain  loon,"  said  the  stran 
ger,  staggering  close  up  to/  'the  children,  "  do  you  want 
your  lights  knocked  out  ?"' 

"  If  I  did,  you  are  not  the  man  to  do  it — you  old  rum- 
jug,  you." 

The  words  were  scarcely  out  of  his  mouth,  before  he 
was  jostled  from  the  path  hy  the  intruder,  who  darted  to 
Elinor,  crying;  "  I  want  you — you  are  the  one."  The  boy 
caught  her  in  his  arms,  and  dashed  down  the  lane  as  fast 
as  he  could  go. 

When  they  lost  sight  of  him,  they  sat  down  to  breathe. 

"Elinor,  you  never  saw  a  drunkard  before  ?" 

"Oh  yes!  I've  seen  Peter  Larkins  drunk." 

"  Yes,  but  he  is  always  good-natured." 

"  Theodore,  what  makes  people  get  drunk  ?" 

"  I  suppose  they  love  to — I  don't  know." 

"  Do  they  feel  happy  when  they  are  stumbling  about 
so?" 

"Well  I  can't  say  Elinor — I  don't  know — but  if  you 
wish  it,  I  will  get  drunk  and  tell  you  how  it  operates." 

"  Oh,  no  !  Theodore,  please  don't — Oh  !  I  could  not 
look  at  you.  I  think  if  anybody  could  see  how  they  look, 
and  how  they  act,  they  would  never  get  drunk." 

"Yes,  but  they  always  think  they  are  carrying  it  on 
secretly  ;  they  never  think,  when  drunk,  that  other  people 
know  it." 

"  Poor  fellow,  only  see  how  he  holds  to  the  fence." 

"  Don't  pity  him,  Elinor,  he  does  not  deserve  it." 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  does." 


48  MRS.  BEN  DARBT. 

"Why?  I  should  like  to  know." 

"  Because  he  has  to  die." 

"  Well,  we  all  have  to  die." 

"Yes,  but  we  keep  our  reason,  and  can  think  and  pray." 

"  Well !  a  man,  that  is  if  he  is  a  man,  can  keep  from 
drinking  ;  that's  my  doctrine." 

"  Don't  dream,  to  night,  that  he  is  running  off  to  the 
Hunter's  Cave  with  you,  Elinor !" 

"If  I  do,  I  will  also  dream  that  you  are  there,  Theo 
dore,  to  rescue  me." 

They  parted  at  the  gate;  Elinor  related  the  adventure  of 
the  evening,  to  her  friends  at  supper.  They  laughed  at 
her  for  being  alarmed.  It  was  thought  of  no  more,  until 
recalled  to  mind  with  many  a  bitter  and  agonizing  re 
flection. 


MRS.  BEN  DARBT.  49 


r  6. 

"  It  is  the  moon,  I  ken  her  horn, 

That's  blinkin'  In  the  lift  sae  He, 
She  shines  sae  bright  to  wyle  us  hamo, 

But  by  my  troth,  she'll  wait  a  wee." 

THE  evening  had  closed  in  very  pleasantly,  and  after  an 
early  supper,  Miss  Temple  and  her  little  niece  walked  down 
to  the  quarter  where  one  of  the  old  family  servants  was 
confined  with  the  rheumatism. 

There  is  an  inexplicable  tie  between  the  children  of  the 
family  and  the  slaves.  It  is  felt  and  cherished  with  ardor 
on  both  sides.  Elinor  loved  to  gaze  upon  the  ebony  face  of 
Sylvia,  and  would  throw  her  arms  around  her  neck,  and 
lay  her  soft  cheek  upon  her  bosom. 

"  Come,  Elinor,"  said  Miss  Temple,  "it  is  getting 
dark." 

"  Yes,  and  if  that  horrible  looking  man  should  be  hid  in 
the  orchard  !" 

"We  should  hardly  be  afraid  of  a  drunken  man,  my 
dear  ;  you  and  I  would  show  him  how  the  Amherst  girls 
could  run." 

"  Good  night,  '  mammy'  Sylvia." 

"  God  bless  you,  my  darling." 

Miss  Temple  hurried  on  very  rapidly.  The  shadows  lay 
thick  among  the  apple  trees.  There  was  just  enough  light 
from  the  young  moon  to  make  objects  visible  to  the  eye, 
but  not  enough  to  identify  them. 

"  Hurry,  love,  we  have  staid  too  late."  Elinor  grasped 
5 


50  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

her  aunt's  hand  and  chatted  merrily,  as  she  looked  ahead 
at  the  bright  light  in  the  parlor  window  ;  all  at  once  she 
stopped  short  in  her  path. 

"  What's  the  matter,  dear  ?" 

"  I  do  believe  there  he  is  now,"  whispered  the  child 

"  Who,  love  ?" 

"  Why,  the  man  that  frightened  us  ;  look,  he  stands  right 
there  by  the  beehive — don't  you  see  him  ?" 

"Don't  be  foolish,  dear,"  said  Miss  Temple,  moving  on 
as  fast  as  she  could,  "  what  would  he  want  with  us?" 

"  May  be  he  is  a  negro  dealer,  and  wants  to  steal  some 
body." 

"  Oh  you  silly  child  !" 

"Well,  he  is  ugly  enough  to  do  it." 

"  The  devil  he  is  !"  cried  a  man  springing  from  behind  a 
tree,  and  seizing  the  child  around  the  waist,  he  bore  her 
away.  It  was  but  the  work  of  a  moment,  and  before  Miss 
Temple  could  move  or  scream,  the  dear  little  one  was  heard 
faintly  crying  as  at  a  distance.  Then  the  agonizing  screams 
of  Miss  Temple  were  heard  from  one  end  of  the  plantation 
to  the  other.  The  servants  rushed  from  every  cabin  door — 
even  old  Sylvia,  who  had  not  been  able  to  get  about  for 
months.  The  report  of  a  pistol  added  to  the  consternation, 
and  when  Miss  Temple  rushed  into  the  house,  she  beheld  a 
heart-rending  scene.  Near  the  parlor  lay  a  fine  young  ne 
gro,  weltering  in  blood,  and  her  father,  with  his  mouth 
gagged,  sat  in  his  arm-chair,  his  hands  tied  behind  him 
with  a  strong  cord.  So  soon  as  Mr.  Temple  was  relieved 
from  his  dreadful  situation,  his  servants  and  near  neighbors 
were  dispatched  in  every  direction — some  in  pursuit  of  the 
kidnappers,  and  others  for  the  county  officers. 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  51 

In  giving  the  premises  a  thorough  searching,  Peter 
Larkins  was  found  concealed  in  the  entry,  and  a  pistol  lying 
not  very  far  from  him.  The  young  man  was  very  badly 
wounded,  and  the  doctor  thought  it  was  very  doubtful 
whether  he  would  recover  or  not.  Peter  Larkins  had  been 
seen  gossiping  and  drinking  with  the  strangers  at  the  inn, 
and  had,  by  not  revealing  what  their  designs  were,  laid 
himself  open  to  suspicion.  Some  were  brought  in  for  wit 
nesses,  who  had  even  heard  parts  of  the  conversation 
which  had  taken  place  between  him  and  his  new  acquaint 
ances.  It  was  proved,  too,  that  he  had  been  drunk  for 
three  days,  and  that  his  conduct  had  been  outrageous  at 
home.  His  wife  was  compelled  to  seek  protection  from  the 
neighbors.  Mrs.  Grimes  could  testify  to  this,  which  she 
did  in  the  following  manner  :  "  Well  'Squire,  I  think  it 
was  Tuesday  night — yes,  I  know  it  was,  for  John  Grimes 
always  goes  down  to  town  on  Tuesdays.  Well,  I  had  been 
pretty  busy  all  day,  and  sot  up  quite  late.  I  had  just  Jciv- 
ered  up  the  fire,  and  was  going  to  bed,  when  I  thought  of 
some  candles  that  I  had  sot  out  in  the  moulds  to  cool.  So 
I  went  out  to  get  them,  when  I  heard  a  terrible  furs  over  at 
Larkins';  so  I  goes  in  and  wakes  up  Grimes.  '  John,'  says 
I,  '  get  up,  I  believe  in  my  heart  that  Peter  Larkins  has 
come  home  drunk,  and  is  acting  badly;  I  hear  his  wife  cry 
ing.'  '  What  do  you  want  me  to  do  ?'  '  Why,  go  and  quiet 
him.'  Says  he,  'It  is  none  of  my  business  ;  a  man  has  a 
right  to  get  drunk  if  he  wants  to.'  '  And  more  the  pity,' 
says  I  ;  '  it's  a  pity  there's  not  a  law  for  it,  if  a  man  can't 
act  the  man  some  one  ought  to  make  him.'  While  we 
was  arguing,  the  point,  I  heard  some  one  pulling  the  latch 
of  the  door ;  so  I  went  to  open  it,  and  who  should  it  be 


52  MRS.  BEN  DABBY. 

but  poor  Susy,  half-dressed,  with  her  baby  wrapped  up  in 
her  shawl,  and  poor  little  Dick  grumbling  and  crying  behind 
her.  Poor  critter,  it  was  enough  to  melt  the  heart  of  a 
stone  jist,  to  see  her — and  then  to  think  of  her  pitying  him — 
but  that's  jist  the  way  with  women,  they  are  such  fools 
about  their  drunken  brutes  of  husbands.  Now  I  tell  you, 
it  would  not  do  for  John  Grimes  to  come  home  in  such  a 
condition  that  he  did  not  know  which  end  was  up !  I  tell 
you  he  would  rue  it  but  once,  and  that  would  be  all  his 
life." 

Poor  Peter,  what  could  he  say  ?  He  protested  his  inno 
cence — none  but  the  'Squire  believed  him. 

"But  you  were  with  those  men,  Peter?"  asked  the  'Squire. 

"I  was,  'Squire,  and  more's  the  pity." 

"  And  you  knew  their  designs  ?" 

"I  did,  'Squire." 

"  Then  why  did  you  not  inform  me  ;  have  I  not  always 
been  your  friend,  and  what  harm  has  my  poor  little  dar 
ling  ever  done  you  ?" 

"  Oh  !  don't,  sir,  if  you  please,  talk  about  her.  I  can't 
stand  it,  indeed  I  can't,"  and  the  tears  streamed  down  his 
face. 

"  If  you  knew  these  men,  and  knew  their  designs  against 
the  child,  why  did  you  not — I  ask  again,  why  did  you  not 
warn  me  ?" 

"Why,  'Squire,  just  to  tell  the  truth  before  God  and  man, 
I  did  know  it  all,  but  I  was  so  drunk  that  I  did  not  know  I 
knew  it,  and  I  come  up  on  purpose  to  defeat  them." 

"Well,  Peter,"  says  Mrs.  Grimes,  "I  hope  you  have 
found  out  at  last  that  the  little  you  drink  does  -faize  you  ; 
now  don't  brag  any  more." 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  53 

"  That's  enough,  Mrs.  Grimes." 

"  I  want  you  to  have-  enough." 

Peter  would  have  had  time  to  get  sober  and  to  reflect  on 
his  errors  before  the  next  session  of  court,  if  he  had  not 
contrived  to  make  his  escape. 

Old  Mrs.  Grimes  took  good  care  of  his  wife  and  children, 
and  no  news  was  heard  from  him  for  many  a  long  day. 
Susan,  so  loving,  so  innocent,  and  so  trustworthy,  wept 
alone  and  in  silence  over  her  misfortunes.  It  mattered  not 
where  Peter  was,  her  affections,  and  her  hopes  of  happiness 
were  with  him. 

Is  it  not  strange  that  the  good  and  wise  love  so  unfalter 
ingly  the  erring  and  the  depraved  ? — such  is  true  love,  and 
such  is  woman's  love. 

It  is  useless  to  linger  at  Wolf- Gap  in  confusion  and  per 
turbation,  to  listen  to  the  voice  of  grief  and  sorrow,  every 
moment  awaiting  the  terminus  to  suspense  and  conjecture. 
From  fresh  mountain  scenes  and  dewy  paths — from  simple 
country  life  and  unsophisticated  hearts,  gentle  reader,  we 
will  visit  the  recherche,  apartments  of  the  heartless  and  fash 
ionable  beauty. 


54  MRS.  BEN  DAKBY. 


r    7. 

Good  name  in  man  and  woman,  dear  my  lord, 
Is  the  immediate  jewel  of  their  souls. — OTKELLO. 

"CLOSE  the  door  softly,  Hannah,"  said  a  lady  who  was 
reclining  on  a  sofa,  in  all  the  luxurious  indolence  of  a 

O 

fashionable  woman ;  "  I  have  a  violent  headache,  this  morn 
ing.  I  am  very  feeble — I  wish  I  knew  what  produces  this 
abominable  feeling." 

"Perhaps  it  was  going  to  the  theater  last  night?"  said 
Hannah. 

"  Then  I  should  have  it  frequently." 

"  But  it  was  very  chilly,  last  evening ;  I  trembled  like  an 
aspen  leaf  all  the  time  I  was  at  the  Tabernacle." 

"What  was  you  doing  there, child?" 

"  I  was  listening  to  a  temperance  lecture." 

"A  what?" 

"A  temperance  lecture,  ma'am." 

"  This  world  is  getting  very  wise  ;  who  was  your  orator, 
Hannah  ?" 

"  I  didn't  hear  his  name,  but  he  knows  how  to  talk,  and 
has  a  powerful  voice." 

"  You  foolish  thing,  to  waste  your  time  in  listening  to 
such  nonsense.  How  could  it  benefit  you?" 

"  Oh !  ma'am,  every  one  ought  to  be  interested  and 
benefited  by  hearing  the  truth." 

"  Take  my  word  for  it,  child,  there  was  not  one  word  of 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  65 

truth  in  the  whole  discourse.  Come,  do  up  my  hair  in  the 
most  becoming  manner.  Braid  it  behind  in  three  braids, 
and  curl  it  in  front.  Let 's  see — yes,  in  five  curls  on 
each  side.  I  have  a  very  uncomfortable  headache,  this 
morning  !" 

A  sinister  smile  curled  the  lips  of  the  attendant,  as  she 
untied  the  full,  dark  tresses  of  her  mistress,  and  laid  them, 
one  by  one,  on  each  shoulder. 

"So  your  man  of  sober  habits  made  a  great  impres 
sion?" 

"I  did  not  say  so,  ma'am;  I  said  everybody  ought  to 
have  been  benefited." 

"  Depend  upon  it,  Hannah,  it  was  all  humbug." 

"  But  I  know  better,  asking  your  pardon,  ma'am,  for 
gainsaying  your  word,"  and  she  gave  the  dark  mass  of  hair 
a  prodigious  twitch. 

"  How  do  you  know?  How  could  you  know ?  There! 
I  declare,  you  will  leave  me  as  bald  as  an  eagle ;  you  are 
very  heedless." 

"How  do  I  know?"  cried  the  girl,  the  blood  rushing  to 
her  face,  and  her  lips  quivering  with  emotion;  "if  I  could 
not  feel  it  and  know  it,  who  could  ?  I  should  like  to  know — 
who  could?" 

"Why,  dear  bless  me,  Hannah,  how  violent  you  are!" 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  and  you  would  be  violent  too,  if  you  were 
in  my  place.  Oh !  ma'am,  if  you  could  follow  me  to  my 
dreary,  loathsome,  desolate-looking  home,  of  Saturday 
nights,  and  witness  what  I  do,  you  would  not  wonder  if  I 
was  violent.  If  you  would  take  a  look  and  see  my  broth 
ers  and  sisters,  benumbed  with  cold,  their  naked  bosoms 
exposed  to  the  winter  wind  and  to  the  summer  sun,  with 


56  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

•  * 

feet  blistered  by  frost — to  see  their  beautiful  hair  all  matted 
with  filth  and  vermin — their  faces  begrimed  with  phlegm 
and  dirt,  and  their  poor,  little,  meager  features  distorted  by 
hunger  and  pain.  My  poor,  deluded  mother,  singing  her 
hellish  songs,  like  a  maniac,  lying  on  an  old  mildewed  bed 
with  her  wailing  skeleton  of  a  baby  hugged  up  to  her 
withered,  dried-up  breast — the  little  dying  angel  tugging  to 
extract  a  drop  to  cool  its  parched  tongue — one 'drop  of  that 
nourishment  which  the  brute  mother  never  refuses  its 
young.  I  should  like  to  know  if  that  is  not  entering  into 
the  merits  of  the  case?" 

"  Your  father,  Hannah,  what  is  he  about  all  this  time?" 

"  What  is  he  about?"  replied  Hannah,  giving  her  mis 
tress  another  nervous  grip;  "I'll  tell  you  what  he  is 
about — stumbling  home  with  a  loaf  of  bread  under  one  arm 
and  a  black  jug  in  the  other  hand — his  eyes  bunged  up 
with  blood  and  dust;  his  face  disfigured  with  coal  black; 
his  clothes  covered  with  the  nauseous  mixture  of  the  gutter- 
filth — I  should  not  know  him  if  it  were  not  for  that  eternal 
jug,  that  accursed  jug.  Oh !  ma'am,  why  should  I  not 
know?  But  this  is  not  all !" 

"It  is  enough  in  all  conscience,  child:  mercy!  mercy! 
I  declare,  you  are  getting  furious!" 

"  You  would  be  furious  too,  ma'am,  if  you  were  in  my 
place,  but  you  don't  know,  indeed  you  don't — how  could 
you? — sitting  here  on  the  fashionable  side  of  Broadway,  in 
your  beautiful  room,  with  curtains  of  gold  and  damask — 
with  your  piano  and  guitar — your  nice  toilet — your  books 
and  engravings — treading  on  a  velvet  carpet — lying  on  a 
soft,  warm  sofa,  with  a  bright  fire  that  sends  comfort  and 
joy  to  every  part  of  the  room — but  above  all,  your  nice 


MKS.  BEN  DARBY.  57 

lunch,  coining  up  on  a  silver  tray,  with  ice-water  and 
champagne.  Then  you  dress  and  wrap  up  in  your  furs 
and  go  abroad  to  see  and  be  seen.  Ah !  ma'am,  it  is  very 
little  you  know  of  misery." 

"Easy,  Hannah,  easy,  for  heaven's  sake,  be  careful!" 

"  I  tell  you,  ma'am,  it  is  bad  enough  to  have  a  drunken 
father — a  beast  of  a  father — but  it  is  nothing  in  comparison 
with  a  drunken  mother!" 

The  lady's  face  flushed  crimson,  and  she  moved  ner 
vously  in  her  seat. 

"  Only  to  think,"  continued  the  girl,  as  she  twisted  the 
long  dark  curls  around  her  finger;  "  that  I  have  a  thousand 
times  wished  that  I  had  never  been  born,  or  that  my  mother 
had  strangled  me  when  I  was  an  infant !" 

"  Oh  !  you  wicked  creature!"  cried  Mrs.  Temple,  trying 
to  laugh. 

"No,  ma'am,  it  is  not  wicked  —  it  would  have  been 
kinder  in  her,  and  she  would  have  only  murdered  me  at 
once,  instead  of  by  piecemeal.  Who  can  love  a  mother 
who  prefers  the  bottle  to  her  children — her  honor — all  that 
is  sacred  to  womanhood  ?" 

"  There,  child,  that  will  do.  Turn  the  glass  round — my 
huir  curls  beautifully  to-day — it  always  does  when  the  air 
is  humid.  Stop,  you  must  not  give  another  pull — I  can't 
stand  it.  Did  your  mother  always  drink?" 

"Always  drink?"  replied  the  girl;  "no,  ma'am — I  can 
remember  when  my  mother  was  a  gentle,  lady-like  woman, 
as  much  so  as  yourself,  ma'am,  only  she  was  poor,  always 
poor,  ma'am." 

"  What  tempted  her  to  become  so  fond  of  her  cups  ?" 
asked  Mrs.  Temple. 


58  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

"  Who  tempts  everybody,  ma'am  ?  Who  tempted  Eve  ? 
The  same  one,  the  devil,  ma'am." 

"  How  was  she  led  to  it  ?"  asked  the  lady,  as  if  irresis 
tibly  forced  to  hear  truths  which  she  had  seldom  heard, 
and  which  she  hardly  dared  to  hear. 

"Why  you  see,  ma'am,  it  was  a  very  sickly  season — my 
father  took  the  cholera,  and  was  very  near  dying;  however, 
he  recovered,  but  very  slowly,  and  was  very  much  re 
duced.  The  doctor  advised  him  to  take  a  little  brandy 
every  day  before  his  meals,  to  strengthen  his  system.  He 
commenced  by  taking  a  little  with  peppermint — sometimes 
with  ginger,  then  toddy,  with  sugar  and  nutmeg,  before 
dinner.  He  then  went  on  from  one  thing  to  another,  until 
he  became  a  perfect  sot;  that's  the  degrees  of  most  drunk 
ards.  The  same  way  with  my  poor  mother — she  begged, 
she  entreated  my  poor  father  to  refrain,  to  pause  before  it 
got  too  late,  but  he  only  drank  the  oftener.  It  was  im 
possible  to  make  him  reasonable.  After  a  while  he  got  to 
staying  out  at  nights,  and  became  quite  worthless,  so  that 

•/          O  O  i. 

my  poor  mother's  heart  was  entirely  broken ;  and  instead 
of  seeking  comfort  in  her  Bible,  and  her  God,  and  her 
ever-blessed  Redeemer,  she  went  to  the  old  black  bottle. 
You  see,  madam,  when  her  eyes  were  swollen,  and  she 
looked  hurried  and  flurried,  like  you  do  sometimes,  I 
thought  it  was  grief  for  my  father's  doings,  but  not  a  bit 
of  it !  she  had  lost  all  consciousness  of  right  and  wrong — 
she  had  sold  her  soul,  and  for  what  ?" 

The  lady  looked  very  earnestly  in  the  girl's  face,  who 
was  standing  directly  in  front  of  her,  with  arms  a-kimbo, 
and  the  tears  falling  slowly  from  her  eyes. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  continued  Hannah,  "  she  became  a  rum- 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  69 

drinker ;  she  first  took  violent  headaches,  especially  in  the 
morning,  just  such  as  you  have  ma'am,  only " 

"  Only  what !"  cried  the  lady,  trembling  in  every  limb. 

"  It  is  champagne  gives  it  to  you,  as  hers  was  caused 
by  diluted,  sour  rum." 

The  lady's  face  quivered  with  suppressed  emotion  ;  turn 
ing  the  things  carelessly  over  on  the  dressing-table,  she 
tried  to  say  carelessly,  "  Why  champagne  never  disagrees 
with  one." 

"  Yes  ma'am,  the  gentleman  that  lectured  last  night 
said,  that  the  upper-crust,  who  drank  champagne,  would 
never  give  it  up — that  it  would  make  folks  boozy  ;  that 
rum,  whisky,  ale,  and  beer,  got  all  the  credit  of  turning 
people  topsy-turvy." 

"  Foreigners  must,  and  will  drink,"  said  Mrs.  Temple. 
"  Your  mother,  child,  I  suppose,  was  from  the  Emerald 
Isle." 

"No  ma'am,"  said  Hannah,  drawing  herself  up  with 
supreme  dignity,  "  my  mother  is  a  native  American — she 
was  born  in  a  land  of  peace  and  plenty  —  more  is  the 
shame  to  her." 

"Well,  Hannah,  I  have  had  temperance  enough  for  one 
day,  I  will  finish  dressing,  but  first  bring  me  a  pitcher  of 
ice  water." 

While  Hannah  was  procuring  the  ice  water,  Mrs.  Temple 
stepped  into  her  dressing  closet,  and  drawing  forth  a  very 
beautiful  flask  of  precious  china,  with  a  silver  stopper, 
poured  out  a  wine-glass  of  clear  amber  liquor  and  drank 
it  down  with  great  precipitation,  and  quickly  returned  to 
the  dressing-table,  ready  to  receive  the  ice  water,  when 
Hannah  returned  to  the  room. 


•60  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

"  I  expect  a  charming  visitor,  this  evening,"  said  Mrs. 
Temple,  as  Hannah  placed  the  water  on  the  table,  "my 
own  sweet  little  daughter,  whom  I  have  not  seen  for  nearly 
eight  years." 

"0 !  ma'am,  you  will  be  very  happy  I  am  sure." 

"Not  so  very — it  takes  a  great  deal  to  make  some 
people  happy.  I  suppose  I  am  one  of  that  class." 

"  Oh  !  ma'am,  you  ought  to  be  happy." 

"  Ought  to  be  ?  How  do  you  know  what  I  ought  to 
be  ?"  and  her  voice  thickening  almost  to  a  lisp,  and  the 
saliva  oozing  from  the  corners  of  her  mouth;  "I  forget  my 
self  sometimes,  when  talking  to  you,  and  if  it  was  not 
vulgar  to  use  proverbs,  I  would  tell  you  one,  but  I  can't 

just  get  hold  of  it — '  Too  much  familiarity '  Oh.!  hang 

it—" 

"  I  beg  pardon,  ma'am,"  said  Hannah,  as  the  lady  was 
vainly  endeavoring  to  fasten  her  bracelet,  "but  everybody 
can  be  happy  in  some  way  or  other ;  God  never  made  man 
or  woman,  without  giving  them  a  chance  to  be  happy,  and 
I  know  he  has  showered  blessings  upon  you  as  thick  as  May- 
blossoms.  You  have  no  right  to  be  anything  but  happy." 

"You  have  a  right,  I  suppose,  to  be  insolent!"  cried 
Mrs.  Temple,  turning  fiercely  toward  the  girl,  who  stood 
holding  her  bracelet  and  collar. 

"I  have  a  right  to  speak  the  truth,"  said  Hannah,  in  a 
firm,  democratic  way. 

"I'll  let  you  know  I  am — know — I'll  let  you  shee  I  can 
do  as  Iplecw/te,"  said  the  lady,  almost  choking  with  pas 
sion,  "do  you  hear  me,  shay,  do  you  hear  me?" 

"I  should  be  as  deaf  as  a  door-nail  if  I  didn't,"  said 
Hannah. 


MRS.  BEN  DAEBT.  61 

"  I  shay,  I  have  a  right  to  do  just  as  I  pleashe;  I  dare 
you  to  shay  otherwise — will  you  not  speak — s-shay?" 

"  I  will  not  say  another  word  ma'am — I  am  sorry  I  said 
so  much.  You  have  spoiled  me  by  talking  so  much  to 
me.  I  do  not  wish  to  forget  my  place." 

"  You  forgot  your  place,  when  you  shaid  I  got  d- 
drunk." 

"  Indeed,  I  did  not  say  so." 

"What  did  y— you  shay?" 

"  I  said  the  champagne  disagreed  with  you." 

"  But  you  meant  as  much." 

"  Dear  me,  ma'am,  how  could  it  enter  my  heart,  that  a 
rich  lady  like  you — one  of  the  upper-crust  too — that  has 
every  comfort  in  life,  should  fall  so  low?" 

"  You  did  s-shay  it — you  did  mean  it !"  interrupted  the 
lady,  in  a  hurried  and  passionate  tone,  "you  know  you 
did — you  low  creature  you." 

"  I  did  not  ma'am,  say  so,"  said  Hannah,  deliberately 
laying  down  the  collar  and  bracelet,  which  she  had  been- 
holding  so  long,  but  saw  so  little  prospect  of  disposing  of 
them  in  their  usual  way.  "  No  ma'am,  I  did  not  say  you 
were  '  you-know-how,'  but  I  say  so  now — and  it's  a  crying 
sin — and  I  tell  you  so  if  I  have  to  die  for  it.  You  are 
sinning  against  light  and  knowledge — for  a  drunkard  cannot 
enter  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven.  Now,  ma'am,  when  you 
get  sober,  and  need  my  assistance,  ma'am,  you  can  just 
ring  the  bell,  ma'am."  Hannah  closed  the  door  behind 
her  with  a  tremendous  jerk. 


62  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 


Cjupter   8. 


-Intemperance 


In  nature  is  a  tyranny ;  it  hath  been 

The  untimely  emptying  of  the  happy  throne, 

And  fall  of  many  kings.— SHAKSPEARE. 

MRS.  TEMPLE  moved  toward  the  door  as  Hannah  closed 
it  sans  ceremonie,  but  fell  back  on  the  sofa,  overcome  by  a 
variety  of  emotions — topsy-turvy  commotion  of  the  brain, 
and  an  unequivocal  unwillingness  of  her  feet  to  perform 
their  usual  functions.  What  a  tableau  !  A  superb  subject 
for  a  Vandyke  or  a  Claude  Lorraine.  The  chamber,  with 
its  lofty  ceilings ;  its  rich  cxirtains  and  draperies  ;  its  mirrors 
and  chandeliers  ;  in  fine,  all  those  exquisite  appliances  of 
ease  and  comfort,  so  consonant  to  the  taste  and  use  of  a 
fashionable  lady. 

Mrs.  Temple  was,  unconscious  of  all  around  her,  ex 
tended  upon  the  sofa,  unable  to  change  her  position.  Her 
form  was  magnificent,  tall  and  graceful  ;  time  had,  with 
dissipation,  destroyed  the  timidity  and  modesty  of  youth — 
these  gave  place  to  a  Venus-like  stateliness  and  power.  Her 
modishly  arranged  head  had  fallen  over  the  cushions,  and 
her  dark  hair,  in  long  curls,  drooped  from  her  high  brow,  and 
rested  on  her  shoulders.  The  contour  of  her  face  presented 
a  perfect  development  of  every  intellectual  beauty  ;  the 
exquisitely  arched  brows,  and  the  long  silken  lashes  added 
the  matchless  symmetry  to  her  features,  so  fully  appreciated 
by  the  eye  of  an  artist ;  but  the  contraction  of  the  muscles 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  63 

and  the  deep  crimson  of  the  cheek,  were  painful  to  the 
sight.  The  half-opened  mouth,  Avith  lips  relaxed,  smiling 
in  contortion  and  disgust,  were  almost  hideous.  An  itiner 
ant  spasm,  twitching  first  one  side  of  her  face^and  then  the 
other,  eliciting  a  corresponding  sympathy  from  the  corners 
of  her  left  eye,  gave  her  the  agonized  look  of  a  fallen  angel, 
and  seemed  to  say, 

"  And  I  forgot  my  home,  my  birth, 

Profaned  my  spirit,  sunk  my  brow ; 
And  reveled  in  gross  joys  of  earth 
'Till  I  became  what  I  am  now  I" 

She  continued  in  a  state  between  sleep  and  lethargy. 
Sometimes  she  would  throw  her  arms  up,  clasp  her  hands 
wildly,  or  strike  her  foot  against  the  ottoman,  which  was 
within  reach.  Her  head,  so  uneasily  placed,  bobbed  up 
and  down,  like  a  cork  on  water.  Love,  friendship,  and 
honor,  were  all  forgotten.  The  hope  of  heaven  and  Chris 
tian  faith  were  expelled  from  her  cankerous  heart.  No  joy, 
no  pleasure,  no  consolation,  but  the  soul-destroying — the 
deadening  influence  of  the  inebriating  draught  found  en 
trance  there.  She  was  lost  in  the  wild  ecstasies  of  delirium, 
proving  the  inexpressible  and  undisputed  delights  of  a 
drunkard's  paradise. 

While  Mrs.  Temple  is  recovering  from  her  extraordinary 
excitement,  I  will  give  you  an  outline  of  her  history  down 
to  the  present  time.  Mrs.  Johnson  had  married  in  very 
early  life,  an  aged  but  aristocratic  merchant,  who  was  the 
father  of  a  very  amiable  and  interesting  child.  Mr.  John 
son  died,  leaving  his  young  wife  the  guardian  of  his  two 
children.  The  step-daughter  was  reared  at  home  by  her 


64  MRS.  BEN  DARBI*. 

mother's  relations,  and  Mrs.  Temple,  the  youngest  child, 
was  sent  to  a  fashionable  boarding-sell ool. 

Her  education  was  limited.  The  frivolous  accomplish 
ments  of  the  day  were  the  only  points  in  which  she  ex 
celled.  Unfortunately  for  her,  and  those  with  whom  her 
lot  fell  in  after  days,  she  was  neglected  in  all  the  most  im 
portant  points  of  female  tuition.  The  essential  duties  of 
religion  and  moral  rectitude,  were  to  her  memory  but  the 
myths  of  the  nursery. 

She  was  taught  to  love  and  admire  virtue  as  some  bright 
and  beautiful  vision,  mixed  up  with  the  mysteries  of  a  future 
state,  but  that  the  whole  purpose  of  woman's  being  was  to 
secure  the  praises  and  flatteries  of  the  world — to  attain  the 
goal  of  ambition  by  a  flourishing  debut  into  the  fashionable 
circles  of  society,  and  by  tact  and  judicious  management, 
obtain  the  hand  of  some  distinguished  character — a  man 
whose  position  in  life  was  unquestionably  above  mediocrity, 
and  whose  name  was  a  passport  to  the  aristocratic  sphere, 
so  ardently  desired  as  the  acme  of  all  earthly  aspirations. 

Miss  Johnson,  unlike  most  young  ladies,  was  not  in  the 
least  romantic.  The  sentiments  of  her  heart  concentrated 
in  self.  She  knew  she  was  handsome,  and  her  only  study 
was  how  to  turn  her  good  looks  to  some  account — how  to 
win,  by  her  graces  and  accomplishments,  a  wealthy  hus 
band. 

When  chance  threw  Mr.  Temple  in  her  way,  every  art 
was  called  into  requisition  to  accomplish  her  designs.  She 
admired  him  and  loved  him  as  devotedly  as  she  could  love. 
He,  the  soul  of  honor  and  truth,  saw  only  the  surface,  and 
dreamed  of  nothing  unfair — thought  not  of  hidden  breaches, 
ambushes,  or  counter-plots,  but  felt  supremely  happy  in 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  65 

sharing  his  name  and  fortune  with  one  so  worthy,  so  beau 
tiful,  and  so  innocent.  They  were  married. 

In  very  early  youth  she  had  been  thoughtless  enough  to 
turn  a  willing  ear  to  the  praises  and  protestations  of  her 
cousin,  Ben  Darby,  who  was  a  year  or  two  her  junior.  The 
conventionalities  of  life  soon  placed  her  before  him,  and  she 
looked  back  at  the  affair,  and  regretted  it  as  a  very  childish 
folly,  and  soon  lost  all  remembrance  of  it.  Young  Darby 
felt  the  change,  but  resolved  never  to  forget  it,  and  never 
permit  her  to  think  he  could.  An  undying  revenge  was 
smothered  in  his  heart,  and  he  gloated  over  the  anticipation 
of  success ;  but  his  soft,  oily  voice,  and  the  imperturbable 
smile,  that  lay  like  a  tissue  of  light  over  his  hypocritical 
face,  said  "peace,  peace,"  when  there  was  no  peace. 
Darby  was  poor,  and  Miss  Johnson  had  been  taught  from 
her  cradle,  that  love  and  poverty  were  at  variance. 

They  were  married,  and  Ben  Darby  smiled  as  he  handed 
his  cousin  to  the  carriage  which  was  to  bear  them  off.  He 
kissed  his  hand  gayly  as  they  drove  away,  and  turned  from 
the  crowd  to  vent  his  smothered  bitterness  in  half  breathed 
curses. 

"  She  shall  rue  it  the  longest  day  she  lives.  I  will 
follow  her  to  perdition,"  were  the  venomous  oaths. 

"  You  had  better  thank  your  stars  that  you  are  rid  of 
her,"  whispered  a  voice  close  by. 

"  Fairmont,  you  think  so  ?" 

"  I  know  it ;  she  will  prove  a  curse  instead  of  a  bles 
sing  ;  there  is  one  poor  devil  taken  in,  or  my  name  is 
Haines." 

"  Tell  me  why!" 


66  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

"  If  I  were  to  tell  you,  you  would  not  believe  me  ;  it  is 
incredible." 

"  So  bad  as  that?" 

"  As  bad  as  you  could  wish  it." 

"  And  she  loves  another  ?" 

"  I  surmise  she  does." 

"  You  speak  from  suspicion  only." 

"  Oh  Darby,  you  know  well  what  I  mean — certainly  you 
do." 

"Indeed,  I  do  not." 

"  Have  you  truly  no  suspicion  of  what  I  am  at  ?" 

"  None,  as  I  live." 

"  Well,  I'll  let  you  go  on  a  voyage  of  discovery  ;  you 
will  not  be  as  long  getting  at  it  as  Columbus  was  in  finding 
America,  but  you  will  be  more  astonished.  Watch  her 
well,  Darby.  '  There  is  something  rotten  in  Denmark.' 
If  I  am  deceived,  you  may  take  the  corn." 

"  Three  weeks,  three  little  weeks,  on  wings  of  love  had 
o'er  them  flown,"  when  Mr.  Temple  discovered  he  had 
married  a  little  too  hastily,  and,  for  once  in  his  life,  had 
committed  a  blunder.  His  wife  was  not  just  exactly  what 
he  supposed  a  wife  ought  to  be.  They  were  not  congenial. 
She  was  frivolous  and  gay — but  then  she  was  young,  and 
would  soon  lose  some  of  the  superabundance  of  youth's 
elasticity.  She  was  inconsistent  and  fitful — but  she  was 
petted  and  spoiled,  and,  no  doubt,  would  soon  imbibe  a 
more  placid  temperament.  His  love,  he  thought,  would,  in 
course  of  time,  remedy  all  her  little  peculiarities.  They 
were  so  trivial,  that  he  wished  he  had  not  noticed  them. 
He  had  faults  himself — he  was  too  fastidious — he  had  raised 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  67 

the  standard  of  feminine  worth  too  high.  He  knew  so  little 
about  the  sex  — perhaps  it  was  true  to  their  natures  to  be 
mysterious  and  inexplicable.  They  were  all  willful  and 
impetuous,  for  Scott,  the  great  genius  of  romance,  had 
said 

"  Oh  woman,  in  our  hours  of  ease, 

Uncertain,  coy,  and  hard  to  please, 
*  *  * 

When  care  and  anguish  wring  the  brow, 
A  ministering  angel  thou  I" 

"  A  ministering  angel,"  no  doubt  —  and  he  would  have 
willingly  contracted  the  dyspepsia  or  consumption,  so  that 
he  might  realize  her  worth — but  all  the  diseases  in  the  cat 
alogue  of  death,  seemed  to  shun  him,  and  he  was  forced  to 
exercise  that  priceless  pearl — patience. 

He  bore,  with  manly  fortitude,  his  accumulating  per 
plexities,  until,  in  despair,  he  concluded  he  had  married  a 
sprite. 

As  time  rolled  on,  Mr.  Temple  made  but  slow  progress 
in  the  study  of  feminine  nature.  His  wife  was  a  perfect 
enigma.  He  found  he  had  been  grievously  deceived,  but  he 
bore  it  like  a  philosopher.  Like  a  Christian,  he  set  about 
to  see  how  all  evils  could  be  remedied,  but  like  a  quack 
doctor,  he  commenced  the  application  before  he  had  disco 
vered  the  cause  ;  of  course,  his  progression  was  slow  and 
uncertain. 

She  was  always  on  extremes  —  when  gay,  volatile  — 
when  serious,  gloomy.  Yet  what  distressed  him  most  of 
all  was,  her  unwillingness  to  visit  with  him  his  mountain- 
home — and  she  always  recovered  from  her  dark  fits  sooner, 
if  he  were  absent,  than  when,  by  kindness  and  affection,  he 
tried  to  win  her  smiles.  He  would  leave  her,  sometimes, 
the  picture  of  despair  and  gloom,  and  upon  his  return  find 


68  MBS.  BEN  DARBT. 

her  as  smiling  as  a  spring  morning,  or  gay  as  the  light- 
winged  lark. 

This  was  painful  in  the  extreme  ;  but  he  was  so  gentle 
in  his  nature,  so  truthful  and  unselfish  in  his  love,  that  to 
see  her  happy  was  sufficient;  at  least,  he  made  up  his  mind 
that  it  should  be  so. 

Darby  was  a  frequent  visitor  at  his  rooms,  but  his  calls 
were  always  well  timed,  and  of  a  ceremonious  character  — 
he  had  no  reason  to  be  jealous,  for  his  wife's  conduct 
toward  her  cousin  was  irreproachable.  Although  Darby 
was  hovering  like  a  vulture  over  the  covert  of  the  dove,  yet 
she  was  unconscious  of  it,  and  innocent  of  any  participation 
in  his  evil  thoughts  and  designs. 

Time,  however,  by  one  of  those  strange  casualties,  over 
•which  human  ingenuity  has  no  control,  terminated  Mr. 
Temple's  misgivings  and  perplexities  respecting  the  conduct 
of  his  wife.  The  denouement  was  clear  and  satisfactory, 
beyond  the  shadow  of  a  doubt. 

Mr.  Temple  was  thrown  from  his  horse,  which  accident 
resulted  in  the  dislocation  of  his  ankle.  He  was  taken 
home  nearly  insensible.  His  young  wife  was  frantic  with 
grief.  When  he  recovered  his  consciousness,  and  found 
her  so  wild  with  anguish  on  his  account,  he  consoled  him 
self  with  the  hope  that  his  painful  disaster  would  reveal 
the  latent  good  qualities  of  his  wife. 

She  lingered  about  him,  whispering  sweet  words  of  con 
solation  and  sympathy,  while  the  surgeon  was  binding  up 
the  injured  member.  "A  ministering  angel  thou,"  thought 
he,  and  his  eye  rested  on  her  face  in  calm  repose. 

The  next  evening  early,  she  left  her  husband  to 
make  some  necessary  purchases.  He  appeared  quiet 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  69 

and  perfectly  at  rest.  She  promised  to  return  in  one  hour. 
"  In  one  short  hour,  dear,"  she  said,  looking  back  at  him 
as  she  left  the  room.  The  hour  soon  passed  off ;  the 
invalid  was  drowsy,  and  the  moments  glided  dreamily 
away. 

Another  hour — still,  Mrs.  Temple  did  not  appear.  The 
doctor  came  and  found  him  much  excited,  and  in  a  great 
fever.  He  had  been  so  long  listening  for  his  wife's  step 
along  the  hall,  and  fancying  a  thousand  evils,  that  he  had 
worked  himself  into  a  fever.  Bitter  reflections  came,  one 
after  another.  He  thought  of  his  home  among  the  hills, 
where  the  winds  came  in  gentle  whispers  ;  the  fragrance  of 
the  woodbine,  that  dropped  upon  the  window  sill ;  the  chant 
of  the  birds,  making  their  nests  in  the  piazza  roof;  the 
soothing  hum  of  the  busy  bees  among  the  clover-blossoms, 
mingling  with  the  distant  and  low  tinkling  of  the  cow-bells 
in  the  meadows;  the  form  of  his  beloved  sister,  whose  pre 
sence  always  brought  a  balm  for  every  anguish,  a  charm 
for  every  pain. 

The  servant  brought  his  dinner. 

"Has  not  Mrs.  Temple  returned  yet  ?" 

"  Not  yet,  sir." 

"  Something  must  have  happened." 

"Where  did  she  go,  sir?"  asked  the  servant. 

"  To  the  Bowery,  John." 

"  When  did  she  leave,  sir  ?" 

"  At  nine,  this  morning." 

"It  is  now  four ;  I  think  she  will  be  in  soon,  sir." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose.  I  am  not  accustomed  to  confinement, 
John,  and  I  am  restless." 

He  tried  to  read,  to  sleep,  to  think,  but  he  had  become 


70  MRS.  BEN  DARBT. 

so  nervous  that  when  the  servant  came  in  late  in  the  after 
noon,  he  found  him  ill,  and  in  violent  pain. 

The  clock  struck  six — no  appearance  of  Mrs.  Temple. 
The  poor  sufferer  groaned  with  agony  and  pain  :  at  last, 
when  night  closed  in,  and  the  gas  was  lighted  in  his  room, 
his  uneasiness  was  vented  in  groans  and  bitter  invectives. 
In  the  midst  of  this  excitement  the  servant  announced  Mr. 
Fairmont. 

"  How  are  you  getting  along  Temple  ?     In  bed  hey !" 

"  I  am  in  great  pain." 

"Ah,  well,  Harry,  every  body  pities  you;  you  are  a 
sober  man.  Now,  if  it  was  your  humble  servant — why  let  him 
go  to  the  devil,  the  intemperate  dog — but  where  is  Mary  ?" 

"  I  have  not  seen  her  since  morning." 

"  No — how  you  talk  !" 

"  I  thought,"  said  Temple,  faintly,  "  she  might  be  at 
your  house." 

"  So  she  was,  at  two  o'clock,  but  she  and  her  sister  had 
a  little  disagreement,  and  Mary  left  suddenly  and  in  a  very 
ill  humor.  So  she  has  not  been  here  all  day  ?" 

"  Left  me  alone  and  in  pain,"  said  he,  bitterly. 

"You  must  teach  her  better,"  said  Fairmont,  "it  will 
not  do  to  let  women  have  their  way." 

"  Their  hearts  should  teach  them  better." 

"  Suppose  they  have  none  ?" 

"  They  are  not  all  heartless,"  said  Temple,  with  a 
sigh. 

"Sir,"  said  Fairmont,  "  my  wife  never  tries  to  cut  capers. 
She  did  when  we  were  first  married,  but  I  cured  her  in  a 
hurry." 

"  What  do  you  call  capers  ?" 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  71 

"  Pouting,  when  I  staid  out  of  nights,  and  dumps,  if  I 
came  home  a  little — you — know — how." 

"  Mrs.  Temple  has  never  had  anything  of  that  sort  to 
complain  of." 

"  I  know  it ;  that  is  the  very  reason  she  imposes  on  your 
good-nature.  Come  with  me  some  night,  and  we  will  take 
a  regular  bender — we  will  get  drunk ;  and  come  home  and 
say,  Mrs.  Temple,  I  am  your  man — I'll  see  you  out,  madam, 
if  you  are  all  trumps.  Then  pitch  up  the  chairs  and  kick 
over  the  tables — sling  down  the  washing  crockery.  I  war 
rant  you,  Mary  would  be  as  docile  as  a  mummy." 

"  Hush,  Fairmont,  said  Temple,  I  cannot  listen  to  you — it 
jars  my  nerves  ;  you  know  well  it  is  not  my  nature  to  be 
violent." 

"  Nor  was  it  mine  once,"  said  Fairmont,  "  but  I  will  tell 
you  how  it  was,  Temple." 

"  Not  now,  Fairmont,  some  future  time,  when  I  can  listen 
with  patience." 

"  No  time  like  the  present — you  can't  help  yourself,  my 
man,  and  while  you  are  getting  your  foot  cured  you  had 
just  as  well  do  up  all  the  diseases  at  once  !  Your  wife, 
Temple,  is  very  far  from  being  an  angel,  like  her  sister, 
Mrs.  Fairmont." 

Temple  groaned. 

"  But  Jane  used  to  be  as  fractious  as  a  cat.  I  will  tell 
you  how  I  cured  her.  Yes,  when  we  were  first  married, 
Jane  was  a  woman  of  her  own  accord.  She  undertook  to 
lay  down  the  law  to  me  whenever  I  came  home  glorious. 
One  night  Darby  and  I  got  in  with  some  old  cronies,  and 
had  a  real  breakdown  ;  when  I  went  home  I  found  Jane 
sitting  up  with  the  baby,  crying  and  looking  like  she 


72  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

had  been  sold  for  half-price.  So  I  laid  down  my  cane,  and 
pitched  my  hat  up  on  the  top  of  the  bedstead,  and  screamed, 
'  Huzza  for  General  Jackson.'  Then,  seizing  the  baby,  I 
sent  it  up  to  the  ceiling.  '  Hurra  for  John  Quincy,' 
screamed  I,  and  away  went  baby ;  but  it  came  down 
greatly  delighted  with  its  aeronautic  excursion.  I  caught 
it  again  in  my  arms,  and  looked  to  see  how  it  had  affected 
its  mother.  Poor  Jane  had  fainted — the  first  thing  she 
said  when  she  recovered  was,  '  Simon,  is  the  baby  dead !' 
I  tell  you,  Temple,  she  never  sat  up  crying  for  me  again, 
with  the  baby;  I  cured  her  of  that  trick,  certain.  I  believe  in 
my  soul  if  she  had  fifty  of  them,  I  never  would  see  one  if  I 
came  home  braced.  So  you  see,  Temple,  women  can  be 
cured." 

"  The  fault  was  all  your  own,"  said  Temple,  "  why  did 
you  give  her  cause  to  weep  ?" 

"  A  woman,  Harry,  has  no  right  to  raise  a  muss  because 
a  man  happens  to  come  home  a  little  transmogrified." 

Fairmont  was  interrupted  by  a  confusion  of  noises  in  the 
hall.  A  loud,  unnatural  laugh,  made  Temple  start  upright. 
There  was  a  bustle  —  a  sound  of  mysterious  whisper 
ings. 

The  door  was  opened  by  Fairmont,  and  Temple  heard 
him  say,  "  For  God's  sake  don't  bring  her  in  here  in  that  con 
dition." 

"What  is  it?  Speak!"  gasped  Temple,  trying  in  vain 
to  get  off  the  couch. 

"  Be  still,  Harry,  you  will  injure  yourself,"  whispered 
Fairmont. 

"  Oh  have  pity  on  me,  Fairmont,  tell  me  what  has  hap 
pened  to  my  wife  ?" 


MKS.  BEN  DARBY.  73 

"  It  is  not  much ;  Mrs.  Temple  has  been  taken  sud 
denly  ill." 

"  Oh !  do  help  me  up,  Fairmont,"  said  the  agonized  hus 
band,  "she " 

"  Lie  still,  you  can't  help  her.  It  is  only  the  hysterics  ; 
women  always  have  so  many  queer  spells  and  odd  fits. 
My  wife  used  to  have  them,  but  they  have  left  her.  I  tell 
her  if  any  one  has  fits  about  the  house  it  must  be  me — if 
there  is  any  fitting  to  do,  why,  I'll  do  it  myself." 

"  Oh,  she  is  ill,  I  know  she  is  ;  she  could  not  have  left 
me  so  long"  —  and  Temple  covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 

"  Nothing  but  a  palpitation  of  the  heart  ;  she  ran  up 
stairs  too  rapidly — she  will  get  better  directly.  They  have 
taken  her  to  her  room  ;  be  easy,  Harry,  a  little  ice-water — 
a  spoonful  of  hartshorn  will  bring  all  right  again.  -Women 
are  queer  creatures  at  best — hard  to  manage — you'll  find 
it  so." 

When  Fairmont  left  the  room  he  found  Darby  in  the  par 
lor,  looking  very  placid  and  self-composed. 

"  You  have  found  out,  Darby,  that  Mrs.  Temple,  has  a 
weak  point,"  whispered  Fairmont. 

"  I  loved  her  once  well  enough  to  take  her  with  all  her 
faults." 

"  Then  you  ought  to  have  married  her,  for  I  see  Temple 
is  not  the  man  to  bear  such  things.  He  is  a  very  sober 
man,  and  would,  I  presume,  prefer  a  sober  wife.  He  will 
not  live  with  her  when  he  finds  it  out." 

"  He  promised  to  take  her  for  better  or  worse.  It  is  his 
own  look-out." 

"  If  that  was  Mrs.  Fairmont  I  would  take  her  to  the 


74  MKS.  BEN  DARBT. 

lunatic  asylum,  and  have  a  strait  jacket  put  on  her,  or  I 
would  trump  up  some  excuse  for  her  to  visit  Black-well's 
Island." 

"Mrs.  Temple  is  your  wife's  sister;  whatever  affects  one 
affects  the  other." 

"  Not  liquor,  Darby ;  but  tell  me,  has  Temple  found  out 
that  his  wife ,  that  there  is  something  wrong  ?" 

"  If  he  has  not,  his  penetration  is  pointless;  he  will,  how 
ever,  be  likely  to  find  it  out  to-morrow." 

"I  feel  very  sorry  that  she  will  drink." 

"  I  regret  she  has  not  tact  enough  to  keep  such  things 
in  secret." 

"  Tact,  the  d !  who  can  keep  such  things  in  the 

dark?—" 

"  Speak  softly,  Fairmont,  or  it  will  get  out." 

"  I  guess  it  is  out  long  ago.  Now  a  man  has  a  right  to 
drink  as  much  as  he  pleases — it  is  nobody's  business — but 
when  a  young,  fashionable  woman  does  it,  she  ought  to  be 
put  in  solitary  confinement  and  fed  on  bread  and  water." 

"  Have  not  the  fair  sex  as  much  right  to  enjoy  the  plea 
sures  of  life  as  we  have?" 

"  You  call  intoxication  one  of  the  pleasures  of  life,  do 
you?  Well,  I  call  it  hell  upon  earth.  I  know  you  will 
allow  that  I  know  something  about  it." 

"  Why  persist  in  it  then?"  asked  Darby,  with  a  malicious 
smile.  "  I  never  do  a  thing  that  is  contrary  to  my  wishes." 

"  Talk  on." 

"  It  shows  a  want  of  self-restraint,  of  independence,  dis 
cretion,  and  bad  management." 

"As  far  as  your  experience  goes,  Darby,  it  shows  a  lack 


MBS.  BEN  DARBY.  75 

of  hypocrisy — strength  in  the  nervous  system — you  are 
made  of  iron — you  have  no  feelings,  you  never  had — you 

are  so  d devilish  in  your  nature  that  you  can  drink 

twice  as  much  as  any  other  man ;  but,  by  heavens  !  you 
walk  erect  and  strut,  as  much  as  to  say,  'Am  I  drunk  ?' 
and  you  are  never  putting  on  your  pants  hind-part  before. 
The  watch  has  never  picked  you  up  on  the  curb  and  carried 
you  home,  with  your  face  bruised  and  a  hole  in  your  hat. 
No,  sir !  you  can  reform  just  when  you  please — now  I  want 
to  see  you  do  it.  They  are  getting  up  a  temperance  society 
on  a  novel  plan,  let  me  see  you  give  them  your  name.  A 
man  who  is  as  frigid  and  dogmatic  as  you  are,  with  a  pint 
of  brandy  stowed  away,  must  be  a  phenomenon  after 
drinking  cold  water  for  a  week.  Cool  off  once,  Darby, 
just  to  see  how  you  feel." 

"  I  will  follow  your  example,  Fairmont." 

"  Well,  I  expect  to  die — yes,  I  had  just  as  well  say  it — 
in  a  gutter,  or  tumble  off  the  leeward  side  of  the  ferry 
boat,  some  Sunday,  or  be  found  frozen  to  death  in  the 
park,  or  with  a  fractured  skull,  by  the  watch ;  but  bad  as  I 
am,  I  would  not  have  a  drunken  wife ;  and  I  must  say, 
Darby,  it  is  not  manly  in  you  to  take  Mrs.  Temple  where 
she  can  indulge  her  propensity.  You  are  not  acting  the 
part  of  a  friend  to  hold  the  cup  to  her  lips,  even  if  it  may 
bring  her  to  you  at  last." 

"  She  will  get  it  any- way,  Fairmont;  it  does  not  matter 
much — it  will  be  all  the  same  a  hundred  years  hence — so 
come,  boy,  let 's  go  and  have  a  cozy  punch  in  my  room, 
and  we  will  talk  it  all  over,  there." 

The  two  worthies  finished  the  evening  together  over 


76  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

cigars,  oysters,  and  punch.  Darby  went  to  bed  stupe 
fied,  but  the  uproarious  Fairmont,  singing  and  swearing, 
stretched  himself  on  the  lounge  and  fell,  at  last,  into  a 
profound  sleep,  singing 

"  Bid  her  shed  not  one  tear  of  sorrow, 

To  sully  a  heart  so  brilliant  and  bright ; 

But  balmy  drops  from  the  red  grape  borrow 

To  bathe  the  relic  from  morn  till  night." 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  77 


apter    9. 


"  Ruin's  wheel  has  driven  o'er  us, 

Not  a  hope  that  dare  attend, 
The  wide  world  is  all  before  us, 
But  a  world  without  a  friend." 

As  the  clock  struck  twelve  Mrs.  Temple  stole  softly  into 
the  sitting-room  where  her  husband  still  occupied  the 
lounge.  He  had  at  last  fallen  asleep,  overcome  by  his 
mental  suffering,  bodily  pain,  and  powerful  anodynes.  He 
was  alone ;  his  servant  had  not  yet  taken  his  place  to  watch 
for  the  night.  The  intense  pain  he  had  suffered  had  gra 
dually  diminished,  and  a  sweet  repose  followed  its  total 
cessation. 

Mrs.  Temple  looked  upon  him  as  he  lay  wrapped  in  "the 
mantle  of  sleep ;"  his  face  was  composed  and  his  fine  manly 
countenance  indicated  peace  and  resignation.  She  turned 
abruptly  from  him,  fumbled  about  the  bottles  and  glasses 
on  the  table  by  his  side,  then  cautiously  prepared  to  seat 
herself  on  the  foot  of  the  lounge.  Totally  unconscious  of 
how  far  she  might  descend — miscalculating  the  proximity 
of  the  point  of  location,  she  came  down  with  a  tremendous 
velocity  upon  the  inflamed  and  aggravated  foot,  which  had 
not  been  easy  one  hour  out  of  the  twenty-four.  A  shriek 
of  agony  from  the  sufferer  brought  her  a  little  to  herself. 
She  raised  herself  up,  and  drawing  his  foot  into  her  lap, 
she  began  to  trot  it  up  and  down  with  a  savage  vehemence, 
singing : 


78-  MRS.  BEN  DABBY. 

"  Wreath  the  bowl 

With  flowers  of  soul, 
The  brightest  wit  can  find, 

We  '11  take  a  flight 

Toward  heaven,  this  night, 
And  leave  dull  earth  behind." 

A  wild,  smothered  scream,  in  which  was  condensed  the 
anguish  of  a  torturing  death,  brought  the  servant  to  the 
room.  He  found  Mr.  Temple  in  a  strong  convulsion  and 
his  wife  holding  on  to  the  dislocated  ankle.  She  was 
removed  from  the  room ;  the  physician  called  and  re-set 
the  bone  with  inexpressible  suffering  to  the  patient.  Days 
and  months  passed  before  he  was  able  to  come  forth  again 
from  his  room.  Every  means  was  used  to  prevent  Mrs. 
Temple  from  indulging  in  her  cups,  but  all  was  in  vain. 
Mr.  Temple  saw  that  it  was  impossible  to  live  with  her  in 
peace  and  security,  and  wisely  determined  to  leave  her. 
Several  weeks  before  the  birth  of  her  infant,  he  kept  her 
in  close  confinement,  and  when  the  child  was  five  weeks 
old  the  wretchedly  beguiled  mother  commenced  her  liba 
tions  to  Bacchus  with  increased  zest.  A  mother's  and  a 
wife's  love  were  forgotten ;  what  then  could  reach  her 
heart?  what  could  reform  her?  Mr.  Temple  had  the  child 
removed  to  a  distant  village  to  be  nursed.  They  separ 
ated.  He  occupied  a  room  in  one  hotel  and  she  in 
another. 

Ever  generous  and  noble-hearted  he  gave  her  an  ample 
maintenance ;  enough  to  surround  her  with  all  the  luxuries 
of  life.  She  attempted  to  recover  the  child,  and  she  suc 
ceeded  in  getting  possession  of  it.  She  kept  it  two  days, 
weeping  bitter  tears  of  repentance  over  it;  but  the  third 
day  she  became  intoxicated,  and  while  lying  on  the  sofa, 


MRS.  BEN  DARBF.  79 

drunk  and  asleep,  Mr.  Temple's  confidential  servant 
entered  and  softly  stole  it  away. 

"  Did  she  make  no  resistance  ?"  asked  the  husband. 

"  None,  sir." 

"Was  the  child  lying  on  the  sofa  ?" 

"  Yes  sir,  with  its  feet  up  in  its  mother's  bosom  and  its 
head  down." 

Mr.  Temple  then  resolved  to  remove  Elinor  to  his  pater 
nal  dwelling ;  he  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  leaving  her 
within  the  reach  of  her  mother.  He  was  well  aware  his 
wife  had  friends,  and  some  very  reckless  ones  too.  He 
knew,  that  when  he  left  New  York  with  the  child,  he  was 
followed  and  watched.  At  Petersburg,  he  tarried  several 
days  at  a  friend's  house,  and  with  a  great  deal  of  care, 
evaded  the  vigilance  of  his  spies,  and  succeeded  in  placing 
the  child  in  security,  without  giving  them  any  clue  to  its 
asylum. 

Now,  reader,  you  know  his  secret — a  drunken  wife  !  A 
young,  beautiful  mother  offering  to  the  cherubic  lips"  of 
innocence,  the  cankering,  filthy  mixture  of  a  poisoned 
breast ;  engendering  in  its  developing  constitution,  the  sta 
mina  of  pollution.  Mothers  !  touch  not,  taste  not ;  let  not 
one  drop  of  the  tempter's  cup  mingle  with  the  pure  ele 
ment  of  thy  breast.  Nature  means  for  the  infant  to  drain 
a  pure  fountain. 

We  left  Mrs.  Temple  lying  rather  uneasily  on  the  sofa. 
The  sound  of  the  tea-gong  roused  her  up.  Finding  her 
self  pretty  capable  of  promenading  the  long  halls  and 
winding  stairs,  she  was  just  coming  to  the  determination  to 
try  the  experiment,  when  the  door  opened,  and  Mr.  Darby 
entered.  He  had  just  returned  from  Virginia,  where  he 


80  MRS.  BEN  DARBT. 

had  gone,  on  purpose  to  restore  Elinor  to  her  mother.  Mr. 
Temple  had  lately  succeeded  in  getting  a  divorce,  and  Mrs. 
Temple  had  promised  Darby  to  marry  him,  provided  he 
succeeded  in  securing  the  child. 

Darby  did  not  care  so  very  much  about  gratifying  the 
whims  of  the  mother,  but  he  thought  he  would  be  able  to 
make  money  by  the  transaction  afterward,  for  he  knew 
Temple  would  spare  no  means  to  recover  it. 

"  Oh  !  Darby  !"  cried  the  lady,  starting  from  her  seat, 
"  is  that  you  ?  Oh  !  where — tell  me,  where  is  my  child  ?" 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  Mary,  don't  go  off  now  into  a 
double-twisted  convulsion  —  be  still,"  and  pushing  her 
back  to  the  sofa,  he  said,  "What  is  the  matter?" 

"My  child,  Oh!  my  child!" 

"Mrs.  Temple,"  said  he,  "you  are  getting  wonderful 
motherly." 

"  Dear  Ben,  you  are  so  cruel — so  hard-hearted." 

"  You  shall  first  welcome  me,"  said  Darby,  "before  I 
tell  you  another  word." 

"  Oh !  cousin,  you  are  truly  welcome.  I  never  was  so 
glad  to  see  you — indeed  I  am — but  I  do  want  to  see  my 
child — Ben,  you  never  were  a  mother,"  said  Mrs.  Darby, 
trying  to  force  up  her  tears. 

"  Nor  ever  expect  to  be  !"  said  he  ;  "  but  listen  to  me — 
you  promised  never  to  drink  again,  and  you  have  broken 
your  promise — can't  you  learn  to  govern  yourself?  you 
must  do  it — you  shall.  Pray  don't  expose  yourself  to 
your  child — but  that's  no  affair  of  mine — she  is  not  my 
child." 

"  You  know  well,  Ben,  that  I  can't  keep  from  it — you 
know  it." 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  81 

"  But  you  can  keep  within  bounds." 
'  "I  will  try — I  do  try — but  have  pity  on  me,  and  tell  me, 
where  is  my  child  ?" 

"  She  is  with  Fairmont." 

"  Oli,  goodness  !  Darby,  why  did  you  leave  her  there  ? 
I  will  go  to  her." 

"  You  will  do  no  such  thing,"  and  he  drew  her  back  ; 
"  I  was  not  aware  that  her  aunt's  house  was  not  a  fit  place 
for  her." 

"Yes,  but  you  know  his  vulgarity — his  loose  conversa 
tion." 

"  Oh  !  I  forgot,  your  child  is  a  Temple. 

"Now  don't  be  bitter,  Darby — but  you  ought  to  know 
that  Fairmont  is  not  a  fit  protector  for  a  girl  ten  years  of 
age." 

"  You  are  becoming  sentimentally  moral — I  sincerely 
wish  your  daughter's  presence  may  be  beneficial  to  you." 

"Talk  on,"  said  Mrs.  Temple,  "I  love  to  hear  you — 
indeed,  you  are  quite  edifying — but  stay,  there  she  is  !  I 
hear  Fairmont's  voice." 

The  door  opened,  and  Fairmont  ushered  into  the  room 
the  little  wild-flower  of  Wolf-Gap.  She  stood  amazed  in 
the  middle  of  the  apartment,  totally  at  a  loss  how  to  pro 
ceed.  The  mother  held  her  arms  open,  but  her  emotions 
were. too  strong  for  utterance. 

"  Why  don't  you  go  to  your  mother,  you  little  Potawat- 
amy,  you  ?"  said  Fairmont,  pushing  her  forward. 

"  Please  let  me  be,  sir." 

"  Don't  you  see  your  mother  is  dying  to  get  at  you  ?" 

"  My  mother — Oh  !  no  sir — did  you  say  my  mother  ?" 
cried  Elinor,  looking  wildly,  first  at  one,  then  at  the  other. 


82  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

"Elinor,  7ny  child,  come,  come  to  your  mamma." 

All  the  sweet,  enrapturing  thoughts  of  a  mother's  love, 
rushed  into  the  heart  of  Elinor.  Her  doubts  vanished — and 
full  of  trust  and  faith,  she  fell  on  the  bosom  of  her  mother. 

"Mother  dear — sweet  mother,"  and  she  laid  her  pale, 
but  pure  cheek,  to  the  burning  face  of  Mrs.  Temple. 

"My  sweet  child — but  do  not  call  me  mother;  it  brings 
to  mind  a  big  cap,  with  a  wide  border — an  apron,  and  tape- 
strings,  with  a  bunch  of  keys  tied  on  the  side." 

"  And  piles  of  bread  and  butter,"  said  Darby. 

Elinor  listened  with  astonishment. 

"  Your  aunt  Paulina,  dear,  I  suppose,  thinks  it  is  Christ 
ian-like,  to  say  Mother,  because  it  is  in  the  Bible,  but  I 
wish  you  to  call  me  Mamma." 

"  Mamma,  beautiful  mamma,"  said  Elinor,  twining  her 
arms  around  the  stately  neck. 

"  How  did  you  get  her,  Darby  ?" 

"  Stole  her." 

"  Were  you  very  sorry,  love,  when  those  barbarians 
caught  you,  and  brought  you  away  ?" 

"  Yes,  mamma,  but  I  did  not  know  that  they  were 
bringing  me  to  you." 

"  We  told  you  so,"  said  Darby. 

"  Yes,  I  know  you  did,  Mr.  Darby,  but  you  always 
winked  at  Mr.  Fairmont  when  you  said  so,  and  I  thought 
you  were  fooling  me." 

"  I  suppose  they  taught  you  to  hate  me  ?" 

"Who,  mamma?" 

"  Paulina  Temple,  and  your  father." 

"  No  ma'am — I  never  knew  I  had  a  mother — a  mamma, 
I  mean." 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  83 

"  You  are  a  sweet,  docile  dove — did  you  think  I  was 
dead  ?" 

"  I  did,  mamma,  until  these  men " 

"  Say  gentlemen,  love." 

"  Dragged  me  away  from  dear,  sweet  Wolf- Gap — and 
don't  you  think,  mamma,  that  they  were  nearly  all  the 
time  so  drunk,  that " 

"  Come,  Darby,  it  is  time  for  us  to  leave — by  George ! 
she  is  a  bright  one.  Mrs.  Temple,  I  am  afraid  you  will  be 
for  paying  us  to  take  that  young  one  back  !  Good  night." 

"  Mamma,"  said  Elinor,  drawing  up  closely  to  her  again, 
"  did  you  send  those  men  after  me  ?" 

"  Gentlemen,  dear — you  must  say  gentlemen." 

"  But  they  are  not,  mamma." 

"  I  know  best,  love,  what  is  proper." 

"  Well,  they  may  be  gentlemen  in  New  York,  but  they 
could  not  be  in  Amherst." 

"  Why  not,  dear  ?" 

"  Because  they  are  drunkards.  Why  did  you  send  them 
for  me  ?" 

"  Because,  love,  I  could  not  live  any  longer  without 
you." 

"  You  loved  me  so?"  and  Elinor  kissed  her  again,  and 
smiled  like  one  in  a  dream.  "Why  did  they  not  come  to 
the  house  and  ask  for  me,  and  talk  to  grandpapa?  but  they 
caught  me  in  the  orchard — tied  up  my  mouth,  and  threatened 
to  kill  me.  Oh  !  that  hateful  Darby — is  he  your  cousin, 
mamma  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  love." 

"  And  Mr.  Fairmont  is  your  brother  ?" 

"My  brother-in-law." 


84  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

"  Oh  !  I  am  glad  he  is  not  my  own  dear  uncle." 

"You  don't  like  him?" 

"  I  like  him  better  than  I  do  Darby." 

"Mr.  Darby,  love." 

"  Mamma,  where  is  my  father  ?" 

"  Papa,  love." 

"  Where  is  he — do  tell  me  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know." 

"Not  know?    Oh,  yes,  you  do  !" 

"  I  do  not,  child — we  never  see  each  other  ;  and  if  you 
stay  with  me,  you  must  give  up  all  your  Wolf- Gap  friends, 
and  forget  them." 

"  Not  my  own  dear  father  ?" 

"  Yes — can  you  not  give  up  all  for  me  ?"  and  Mrs.  Tem 
ple  looked  so  beautiful  when  she  said  this,  that  Elinor  again 
hid  her  face  in  her  bosom. 

"  I  feel  I  shall  love  you  better  than  all  the  world,  mam 
ma,  excc-pt " 

'"No  exceptions,  Elinor — you  must  forget  all." 

"  God  will  not  let  me." 

"But  you  will  try,  I  know  you  will — but  how  old-wo 
manish  you  look — your  clothes  look,  as  old-timed  as  Lot's 
wife,  when  she  came  out  of  the  ark." 

"  But  Lot's  wife,  mamma,  was  never  in  the  ark — she 
turned  to  a  pillar  of  salt." 

"  Yes,  because  she  was  prying  into  things  that  did  not 
concern  her,"  continued  Mrs.  Temple  ;  but  I  say,  Elinor, 
your  clothes  are  a  perfect  libel  on  the  past.  Wolf- Gap 
fashions,  I  suppose." 

"Indeed,  you  are  mistaken.  Mr.  Darby  bought  them 
for  me  in  Richmond." 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  85 

"  I  thought  Darby  had  better  taste." 

"Oh,  mamma,  he  has  not  one  good  quality  about  him.' 

"  You  must  not  express  such  an  opinion — you  are  too 
little  to  have  one  of  your  own." 

"  I  cannot  help  seeing  when  a  person  is  drunk — can  I  ?" 

"  Well,  dear,  you  must  try  and  think  better  of  him  ;  do 
you  know  that,  perhaps,  he  will  soon  be  your  father?" 

"Never!"  cried  Elinor,  her  arms  relaxing  their  hold 
upon  her  mother,  "  my  father  is  living — I  can  have  but  one." 

"  I  suppose  they  never  told  you  that  your  father  and  I 
were  divorced  ?" 

"  What  is  divorced  ? 

"Unmarried,  love." 

"  People  can't  be  unmarried  without  dying,"  said  Elinor. 

"  Yes,  dear — the  law  does  it." 

"  The  law — Oh !  no,  mamma  ;  for  when  Ralph  Jones  and 
Sallie  Barns  got  married  at  Wolf-Gap,  the  preacher  said, 
'  Those  whom  God  joins  together,  let  no  man  put  asunder,' 
and  when  I  asked  grandpapa  what  it  meant,  he  said  they 
had  to  live  together  until  they  died." 

"  These  things  are  beyond  your  comprehension,  love — we 
will  talk  no  more  about  it  to-night ;  be  careful,  dear,  not  to 
talk  in  company  about  your  Ralph  Jones  and  Sallie  Barnes ; 
it  sounds  vulgar." 

Elinor  understood  enough  to  make  her  feel  very  un 
happy,  and  even  after  she  was  introduced  to  the  splendor 
and  luxury  of  city  life,  she  pined  for  the  green  fields  and 
sweet  quiet  glades,  where  the  music  of  nature,  and  the  fra 
grance  of  the  earth,  poured  out  their  treasures  upon  the 
passing  winds. 

She  had  been  but  a  few  days  with  her  mother,  when  the 


86  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

novelty  of  having  "a  sweet,  beautiful  mamma,"  began  to 
pall  on  her  imagination.  Although  Mrs.  Temple  was  beau 
tiful  and  fashionable,  and  given  to  gross  flattery,  yet  there 
was  at  best  little  in  her  to  interest  a  pure-minded  child, 
and  Elinor's  education  was  so  different  from  hers,  that 
child  as  she  was,  Mrs.  Temple  could  not  cope  with  her  ar 
guments  ;  so  there  was  very  little  congeniality  between 
them.  The  idea  of  her  mother  marrying  again,  was  full 
of  horror  and  disgust.  She  felt,  she  knew  there  was  some 
thing  wrong,  but  she  was  not  old  enough  to  enter  into  the 
merits  of  the  case.  The  thought  of  having  Darby  for  her 
daily  companion,  was  torture,  and  the  poor  child  brooded  in 
painful  silence  over  her  misfortunes.  She  determined  to 
write  home  in  spite  of  all  her  mother's  precautions.  Her 
mother's  love  was  all  made  up  of  sweet  words  and  rich 
presents — books,  clothes,  and  jewels — all  were  pleasing  and 
novel  to  Elinor,  but  there  was  something  missing  ;  she 
could  not  feel  easy  with  her  mother ;  could  not  rely 
upon  her  in  full  faith  ;  there  was  no  common  sentiment 
or  common  feeling.  If  Elinor  spoke  of  the  mountains 
of  Amherst,  and  her  country  associations,  her  mother 
always  stopped  her  short, — 

"  Well,  dear,  you  must  forget  all  those  vulgar  people — 
you  are  in  the  city  now." 

Her  mother  left  her  alone  so  much  of  her  time — she  was 
sick  so  often — sat  up  so  late  at  night,  and  slept  so  late  in 
the  morning — sometimes  until  dinner-time — then  she  was 
so  fretful  and  peevish — always  garrulous,  and  never  agree 
able  only  of  evenings.  Elinor  was  getting  very  weary  of 
being  shut  up  all  day  in  the  house,  having  access  only  to 
the  parlor  and  halls.  She  read  until  her  eyes  ached — 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  87 

looked  over  all  the  streams  and  mountains  which  were  in 
the  pictures  that  adorned  the  walls,  and  her  young  heart 
yearned  for  the  joys  of  country  life — the  song  of  the  wild 
bird  on  the  mountain's  crest — the  murmurs  of  the  crystal 
drops  that  washed  the  cleft  rock — the  noise  of  the  geese  in 
the  meadow-brook ;  but  above  all,  the  old  school-house  in 
the  hollow,  where  she  had  passed  so  many  bright  and 
happy  days,  making  bouquets  of  wild  flowers,  and  twisting 
love-knots  out  of  the  long  broom-straws. 

Tired  of  her  thoughts,  she  gazed  from  the  window  to 
find  relief  by  watching  the  crowd  which  swept  to  and  fro 
with  the  speed  of  thought.  She  read  the  signs  over  the 
street,  and  spelt  them  backward  ;  watched  the  neighbors 
at  the  boarding-house  on  the  corner — the  little  pale-faced 
baby  that  lived  at  the  window,  tapping  the  glass  with  its 
tiny  fingers,  like  a  bird  in  a  cage — the  sickly-looking  gen 
tleman  in  No.  — ,  pausing  at  his  easel,  and  the  old  woman 
over  the  Insurance  Office,  with  the  mob-cap,  brushing  the 
dust  and  cobwebs  from  the  shelves  of  the  quaint-looking 
old  room,  while  its  inmate  was  walking  on  the  Battery — 
the  lady  with  the  green  shawl  and  brown  parasol,  who  goes 
out  and  comes  in  so  frequently ;  she  takes  off  the  everlast 
ing  shawl,  folds  it  up,  and  lays  it  away ;  seats  herself  in 
the  rocking-chair,  and  talks  to  herself.  Elinor  wonders 
what  she  is  saying — expects  she  is  tired  of  being  alone. 
Then  she  became  interested  in  a  large  building  that  was  un 
dergoing  a  remodeling,  a  huge  brick  house  nearly  opposite; 
they  were  pulling  it  down,  and  building  it  over  ;  the  bricks 
were  all  taken  apart ;  the  old  crust  of  mortar  removed,  and 
the  bricks  piled  up  outside  the  curb-stone.  A  good  many 
hands  were  employed,  and  all  seemed  very  busy.  So 


88  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

deeply  were  her  childish  thoughts  taken  up  in  counting  the 
loads  of  brick  that  were  placed  on  the  temporary  tower, 
she  did  not  notice  that  any  one  was  near  her. 

"Elinor,"  said  Hannah,  "do  not  lean  so  far  out  of  the 
window,  you  might  fall  out  and  crush  somebody's  new- 
fashioned  bonnet." 

"No  I  won't,  Hannah;  but  only  see  that  boy  over 
there !" 

"Where?" 

"  Piling  up  the  bricks,  don't  you  see  ?" 

"  I  see  lots  of  them,  all  the  time — there  is  no  scarcity  of 
the  article  in  this  city." 

"Yes,  but  I  mean  that  boy,  there,  with  the  straw  hat 
and  striped  pants.  Oh !  look  at  him,  Hannah,  what  a 
heavy  load  he  carries!" 

"  He  '11  get  done  the  sooner." 

"  See,  Hannah,  how  fast  he  walks  !  there,  don't  you  see 
how  fast  he  is  piling  them  up  ?  Theodore !  Theodore  !" 
she  cried,  almost  springing  from  the  window. 

"  Miss  Elinor,  your  mamma  will  hear  you — you  had 
better  not  make  her  mad  unless  you  want  to  see  the  devil's 
wife !" 

"  Oh  !  Hannah,  that  is  Theodore !"  and  she  called  again, 
"  Theodore !" 

"I'll  Theodore  you,  you  vulgar  little  de'il,"  cried  Mrs. 
Temple,  seizing  her  by  the  shoulders  and  pulling  her  down ; 
"  how  dare  you  scream  at  those  nasty,  low-bred  carriers  ? 
are  you  not  ashamed  of  yourself?  Come,  come,  no  cry 
ing — I  will  not  have  it !  Fix  her  up,  Hannah,  and  bring 
her  in  the  sitting-room— Mr.  Darby  wants  to  see  her — 
mind,  don't  provoke  me  1" 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  89 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  so!"  said  Hannah,  as  soon  as  her 
mistress  left  the  hall;  "she  is  one  of  the  furies.  Ah! 
child,  your  troubles  are  just  beginning — I  pity  you  and  will 
do  all  I  can  to  help  you.  I  was  going  to  leave,  the  night 
you  came,  but  said  to  myself — I  know  a  thing  or  two,  so  I 
concluded  I  would  stay  just  on  your  account." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  Hannah,  and  I  feel  very  sorry  that 
mamma  is  angry — but,  Hannah,  that  was  Theodore — I 
know  it  was." 

"And  pray,  who  is  Theodore,  Miss,  that  you  must  be 
calling  him  from  the  window  ?" 

"  Oh !  you  know,  he  lived  just  down  below  grandpa's — 
I  left  him  there  when  I  came  away." 

"  How  came  he  here  ?    It  must  be  his  ghost !" 

"I  know  it  is  him." 

"  How  do  you  know?" 

"  By  his  walk." 

"All  hod-carriers  walk  queer,"  said  Hannah,  laughing; 
"  don't  be  so  foolish,  and  whatever  you  do,  don't  you  men 
tion  his  name  before  your  lady-mother — if  you  do,  I  pity 
you." 

Elinor  walked  timidly  into  the  room  and  was  -welcomed 
by  Mr.  Darby,  who  introduced  her  to  some  ladies  and  gen 
tlemen  who  had  met  to  have  a  social  whist  party. 

"What  a  sweet,  little  daughter  you  have,"  said  Miss 
Stitson — "very  much  like  you,  Mrs.  Temple." 

"She  is  the  image  of  her  father,"  said  Darby;  "a 
Temple  out  and  out." 

Elinor  looked  down  to  hide  the  smile  of  satisfaction  that 
would  come   over  her  features  in  spite  of  all  her  self- 
control. 
8 


90  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

"  Elinor  can  sing  like  a  canary,"  said  Mr.  Darby ;  "  have 
you  ever  sung  for  your  mamma,  child?" 

"  No  sir,  she  has  never  told  me  to  sing." 

"  The  birds  do  not  wait  to  be  asked,"  said  Miss  Stitson. 

"  Yes,  but  they  are  out  in  the  sunshine  and  can't  help 
singing." 

"And  have  no  mammas  to  scold  them,"  said  Darby, 
mischievously. 

" No;  and  no  Darby  to  hate,"  said  Elinor. 

"How  did  Mr.  Darby  find  out  that  you  sing?"  asked 
one  of  the  gentlemen. 

"  He  heard  me  singing  on  the  road  when  we  were  com 
ing  from  Virginia." 

"  Oh !  Mrs.  Temple,  she  is  a  prize !"  cried  Miss  Stitson ; 
"  so  very  precocious  !  Well,  dear,  you  will  sing  for  me — 
come  sit  here,  where  I  can  see  your  eyes — now  begin, 
dear." 

Elinor  sang  a  sweet,  simple  air  with  simple  words,  which 
pleased  the  company  very  much ;  at  least,  the  gentlemen 
praised  her  and  the  ladies  caressed  her ;  and  between  the 
two,  Elinor,  like  "  children  of  a  larger  growth,"  felt  called 
upon  to  do  her  best  to  increase  the  admiration ;  her  vanity 
was  excited.  Turning  to  Mr.  Darby,  she  said : 

"  Now,  Mr.  Darby,  I  '11  sing  a  song  that  will  just  suit 
you." 

"Why  will  it  suit  me,  pray,  Miss  Elinor?" 

"  Because  it  is  a  temperance  song." 

Loud  peals  of  laughter  broke  forth  at  Darby's  expense. 

"Let's  have  it,  by  all  means,"  cried  Miss  Stitson. 

"  Yes,  it  will  certainly  be  beneficial  to  Ben,"  said  a  gen 
tleman. 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  91 

"  It  must  work  a  miracle,  then,"  said  Mrs.  Brown. 

"Why,  Ben,  the  temperance  question  is  beginning  to 
seek  out  victims." 

"Who  composed  your  song,  dear?"  asked  Mrs.  Brown. 

"  I  don't  know,  madam;  Mrs.  Grimes  got  it  from  a  Bos 
ton  newspaper,  and  she  made  me  sing  it  at  a  quilting  for 
Peter  Larkins — you  know  Peter  Larkins  ?"  said  she,  look 
ing  trustfully  at  Ben  Darby. 

The  room  rang  with  laughter. 

"  One  of  your  country  cronies,  hey !  Darby  ?"  said  Mrs. 
Brown. 

Darby  smiled  blandly  and  bore  the  jests  of  his  friends 
patiently.  Mrs.  Temple  was  on  thorns. 

"Come,  dear,"  cried  Miss  Stitson;  "J  am  dying  to 
hear  it !" 

Elinor  folded  her  hands  on  her  bosom  and  sang  in  a 
sweet  voice : 

The  sun  is  brightly  looming 

Over  hill  and  over  dale, 
The  sweet  may-buds  are  blooming 

Down  in  the  winding  vale. 
Crystal  drops  are  falling 

On  every  leaf  and  flower, 
To  life  and  beauty  calling 
The  wild  woodland  bower. 

Cold  water,  ever  flowing, 

Thy  diamond-drops  are  free — 
Cold  water,  sparkling,  glowing — 
"We  can  drink,  drink  of  thee. 

The  wild  deer  on  the  mountain, 

The  eagle  on  the  steep 
Drink  of  the  gushing  fountain 

So  limpid  and  so  deep  ; 


92  MBS.  BEN  DARBY. 

It 's  Heaven's  own  distilling, 

For  the  sparkling  waters  glide 
Through  the  earth's  bosom,  filling 
The  ocean  with  its  tide. 

Cold  water,  ever  flowing, 

Thy  diamond-drops  are  free — 
Cold  water,  sparkling — glowing, 
We  can  drink"  drink  of  thee. 

The  amher  wine-cup  gleaming 

With  the  sweet  grape's  crimson  glow, 
Its  wizard  drops  are  teeming 

With  bitterness  and  woe. 
Dark  goblet !  oh,  how  cheating, 

Though  thy  brim  may  jeweled  be, 
The  pleasures,  oh !  how  fleeting 
To  those  who  drink  of  thee. 

Cold  water,  ever  flowing, 

Thy  diamond- drops  are  free — 
Cold  water,  sparkling — glowing, 
We  can  drink,  drink  of  thee. 

A  peal  of  merriment  succeeded  the  song,  and  some  one 
accused  Darby  of  looking  very  penitential ;  but  he  swore 
he  had  enough  of  cold  water,  and  called  up  hot  punch  to 
carry  off  his  chill.  They  all  became  very  convivial. 
Champagne  followed  the  punch,  and  some  of  the  company 
were  becoming  a  little  uproarious. 

Mrs.  Brown  proposed  to  toast  the  temperance  song  ;  and 
Miss  Slitson,  the  singer  ;  so  Darby  poured  out  a  glass  of 
wine  and  handed  it  to  the  child,  and  expressed  his  admira 
tion  for  the  song.  Elinor  refused  to  take  it. 

"  Thank  you,  sir,  I  never  drank  any  in  my  life." 

"  That  is  no  reason  you  never  should." 

"  Papa  never  would  let  me  taste  it,"  said  Elinor,  look- 


MBS.  BEN  DABBY.  93 

ing  beseechingly  toward  her  mother.  "  Indeed,  he  said  I 
must  never  touch  liquor." 

"  Oh  what  a  little  vulgarity  it  is,"  cried  Mrs.  Temple, 
turning  crimson  ;  "it  is  wine,  dear,  never  say  liquor." 

"  Yes,  mamma,  I  know  that,  but  it  will  make  drunk 
come." 

"  Do  you  know,  child,  you  are  acting  very  impolitely?" 

"I  suppose  I  am,  but  I  cannot  drink  it,  Mr.  Darby." 

"Just  taste  it,  Elinor,  that  is  all  that  is  required  of  you." 

"  I  will  not  touch  it,  for  our  preacher  at  Wolf- Gap,  said: 
Touch  not,  taste  not,  nor  handle  the  unclean  thing." 

"  What  a  sweet  angel  it  is,  quite  a  little  moralist,"  said 
Miss  Stitson.  "  She  is  a  perfect  treasure." 

Mrs.  Temple  led  Elinor  to  the  door,  and  ordered  Hannah 
not  to  permit  her  to  return,  but  put  her  to  bed. 

"Did  you  drink  any  punch  ?"  asked  Hannah,  who  had 
been  listening  at  the  door. 

"  No..  I  did  not." 

"  That  was  just  right;  never  taste  it,  never  Miss — it  is 
rank  poison  ;  it  kills  soul  and  body  both.  I  will  take  you, 
some  night,  to  the  Tabernacle,  to  hear  the  Temperance 
Lecturer — would  you  like  to  go  ?" 

"  Very  much,  Hannah  ;  you  are  very  good — but  please 
let  me  look  out  of  the  hall  window.  I  will  not  make  a 
noise." 

"What for,  child?" 

"  Perhaps  Theodore  is  there." 

"  Thinking  of  him  still  ?" 

"  He  is  my  old  friend,  Hannah,  and  he  is  very  good  and 
true." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?" 


94  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

"  Grandpa  said  he  could  trust  him  with  his  honor  or  his 
life.  Yes,  yes,"  whispered  she,  "  there  he  is  still !"  She 
clasped  her  hands,  and  he  took  off  his  hat  and  replaced  it, 
with  a  very  grave  air.  "  Oh  yes  !  Hannah,  it  is  him,  please 
let  him  in." 

"  In  here,  child  !  that  will  never  do — I  must  take  him  to 
my  room  —  he  is  just  the  size  of  Charley,  my  brother. 
My  heart  is  warming  up  toward  this  Theodore  of  yours, 
dear." 

"  Oh  !  I  love  you  for  that,  Hannah  ;  bring  him  in  here 
first." 

"  No  !  come  with  me." 

Elinor  was  so  delighted  when  she  saw  Theodore,  that 
she  could  scarcely  keep  still  a  moment. 

"  How  d'ye  do,  Miss  Elinor  ?" 

"  I  am  well,  Theodore,  how's  the  folks  at  Grandpa's  ? 
Oh  !  I  have  been  so  lonesome." 

"  Lonesome,  in  this  great  city  ?"  asked  Theodore. 

"  Yes,  very — but,  Theodore,  you  worked  very  hard  to 
day — it  is  worse  than  turning  over  Grandpa's  hay." 

"  A  little,  Miss." 

"What  makes  you  say  Miss?"  asked  Elinor,  eagerly. 

*'  Because  it  is  not  the  same  as  it  was,"  said  the  lad, 
gazing  kindly  at  the  excited  little  girl. 

"  I  am  very  sure  I  am  the  same  Elinor,  and  you  are  the 
same  Theodore,"  replied  the  child,  with  a  glowing  face, 
full  of  trust  and  decision. 

"  We  are  in  the  city  now,  and  must  do  as  the  folks 
here  do." 

*'  Yes,"  said  Hannah,  "  when  we  go  to  Rome  we  must 
be  Romans." 


MRS.  BEN  DAKBT.  95 

"  Theodore  Harper,"  tell  me,  cried  Elinor,  "  what  you 
came  to  New-York  for,  and  who  came  with  you  ?" 

"  He  came  to  see  the  Elephant,"  said  Hannah. 

"Where  is  the  Elephant,"  asked  Elinor,  with  childish 
credulity. 

"  Ah,  that  is  it,"  said  Hannah,  smiling  quietly — "that's 
the  question  everybody  asks ;  well,  dear,  be  easy,  you  will 
be  very  apt  to  see  it  before  you  leave  the  city." 


96  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 


ID. 


I  loved  her  as  a  brother  loves 
His  favorite  sister.— L,  E.  L. 
J  *     *  . 


"  THEODORE,  what  made  you  leave  home  ?  You  were  not 
dragged  away  with  your  mouth  stopped  up  with  an  old 
dirty  pocket-handkerchief,  as  I  was." 

"No,  I  hope  I  was  not,"  said  Theodore,  with  a  look  of 
decided  heroism.  "  They  would  have  stirred  up  a  very 
different  kind  of  a  coon,  the  drunken  varmints  !" 

"  I  wish  I  was  back  at  the  "  Gap,"  don't  you,  Theo 
dore  ?" 

"  No,  Miss  Elinor — this  is  a  great  city.  There  are  so 
many  ways  to  get  along  here  and  to  learn." 

"You  cannot  go  to  school,  can  you  ?"  asked  Elinor,  with 
a  tear  in  her  eye.  • 

"  No  ;  but  I  can  work  all  day,  and  Saturday  night  I  can 
go  to  lectures — on  Sunday,  to  Sabbath  School  and  church ; 
and  I  can  rent  lots  of  books  to  read.  You  see,  Elinor, 
(Miss,  I  mean),  when  they  brought  you  off,  the  whole 
plantation  was  in  a  dreadful  panic.  Your  aunt  Paulina  was 
nearly  crazy.  Some  ran  one  way,  some  another  —  some 
went  for  the  doctor  for  poor  yellow  Joe,  who  was  nearly 
killed  —  some  went  for  the  constables.  Miss  Paulina  gave 
me  some  money,  and  told  me  to  take  old  Cindarilla,  and 
never  stop  until  I  come  up  with  you.  Her  word  was  always 
my  gospel,  so  I  started  off;  but  I  did  not  get  the  old  mare. 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  97 

You  know  how  contrary  and  hateful  she  gets,  sometimes. 
I  put  off  in  the  direction  they  went,  and,  knowing  all  the 
by-paths  through  the  hills,  I  took  every  near  cut  I  could, 
and  I  know  very  little  grass  grew  under  my  feet.  I  never 
should,  however,  have  caught  up  with  them,  if  it  had  not 
been  for  a  gentleman  from  Bottetourt county,  that  was  tak 
ing  a  drove  of  mules  and  horses  down  to  Petersburg,  for 
the  lower  markets.  He  had  his  creatures  in  a  pasture,  and 
was  about  getting  his  breakfast  when  I  went  into  the  inn. 
When  I  asked  the  tavern  keeper  if  he  had  seen  a  dearborn, 
and  two  gentlemen,  and  a  little  girl  with  black  curls — " 

"That  was  me,  wasn't  it,  Theodore  ?"  inquired  Elinor 
in  great  glee. 

"  It  was  nobody  else.  I  was  not  thinking  of  anything 
else,  but  how  to  catch  up  with  the  villains " 

"  Hush  !  Theodore,"  said  Elinor,  putting  her  hand  over 
his  mouth.  "  There  is  one  of  them  in  the  parlor — speak 
low." 

"  I  would  not  tell  my  name  if  I  was  afraid  of  either  of 
them  ! 

"  You  are  right,  brother,"  said  Hannah,  "  but  still,  it  is 
best  not  '  to  nod  at  a  sheep  when  you  have  your  hand  in  its 
mouth  ;'  but  go  on  with  your  story." 

"  Well,  as  I  was  saying,  the  landlord  said,  they  passed 
there  two  days  ago  —  they  stayed  there  all  night,  and  the 
child  cried  herself  to  sleep." 

"  I  would  not  have  cried,  Theodore,  if  I  had  thought 
you  were  so  near." 

"  The  man,"  continued  Theodore,  "had  a  fractious  crea 
te-'  along,  that  would  neither  drive  nor  be  driven.  As  I  was 
Balking  along  the  roadside,  he  asked  me  what  I  would  take 


98  MRS.  BEN  DARBT. 

to  ride  the  animal  to  Petersburg.  I  told  him  I  would 
ride  him  if  he  would  pay  my  expenses  there  and  back ;  so 
I  did  it." 

"  You  were  quite  a  good  manager,"  said  Elinor,  highly 
delighted  with  his  narrative. 

"  Where  there  is  a  will,  there  is  always  a  way,"  said 
Hannah.  "  A  handful  of  mother  wit  is  worth  a  bushel 
of  learning  ;  but  go  on,  brother,  and  tell  us  how  you  got 
along." 

"I  could  tell  you  a  pretty  long  history — but  we  have 
not  the  time  now,  so  I  must  be  concise  and  short  in  my 
story." 

"  Short  and  sweet,"  said  Hannah. 

"  I  traveled  a  very  long  road  before  I  came  in  sight  of 
you,  Elinor.  Just  as  we  got  in  the  suburbs  of  Petersburg, 
I  saw  the  carriage,  and  knew  it  for  the  one  that  had  stood 
at  the  '  Cross-Keys.'  It  was  nearly  night,  and  the  man 
whose  horse  I  had  ridden,  gave  me  money  to  pay  my  way 
home  again.  I  went  in  the  hotel,  and  seated  myself  to  reflect 
on  what  I  ought  to  do.  I  counted  over  my  little  stock, 
and  felt  quite  satisfied  that  I  should  not  starve.  I  deter 
mined,  however,  to  be  very  saving." 

"  '  Better  spare  at  the  brim  than  at  the  bottom/"  said 
Hannah,  soberly  looking  at  the  youth  ;  "  I  hope  you  will 
continue  as  you  have  begun." 

"  So  I  bought  me  some  crackers  and  cheese,  and  then 
thought  I  would  walk  out  a  little,  and  see  the  place,  as  it 
had  been  a  long  time  since  I  was  there.  As  I  was  going 
up  High  street,  I  looked  into  a  confectionary  shop  window, 
at  the  nice  things  that  were  placed  there  for  show,  and 
heard  some  very  loud  words  uttered  at  the  door,  and  turning, 


MRS.  BEN  DARBF.  99 

I  saw  the  same  man  who  carried  you  off — he  was  quite 
drunk,  and  his  companion  was  trying  to  get  him  back 
to  the  tavern." 

"'Here,  my  lad,'  said  the  youngest  gentleman;  'here, 
take  these  bundles  and  follow  me' — so  I  took  them  and 
walked  behind  them  to  the  hotel.  When  we  got  to  the 
office  he  told  me  to  bring  them  up  in  the  parlor.  I  did  as 
he  bade  me,  and  when  I  got  up  in  the  room  he  told  me  to 
throw  them  on  the  sofa.  As  I  passed  over  to  dispose  of 
my  buz'den,  I  saw  you  sitting  in  a  big  rocking-chair,  fast 
asleep.  I  don't  know,  but  it  seems  to  me,  that  there  were 
two  tears  still  fresh  on  your  cheek ;  but  you  were  resting 
as  sweetly  as  if  you  were  at  home  in  your  crib." 

"Oh!  I  wish  you  had  whispered  'Elinor!'"  cried  the 
young  girl,  clapping  her  hands  at  the  very  thought. 

"  Yes,"  said  Hannah,  laughing  in  her  quiet  but  quick 
way ;  "  then  all  the  fat  would  have  been  in  the  fire ;  but  go 
on,  brother,  and  tell  us  how  you  got  on,  and  why  you  did 
not  inform  on  them." 

"  How  could  I  ?  what  could  a  poor,  friendless,  unknown 
boy,  like  me,  do  with  such  desperate  men  with  their  pockets 
full  of  money?  I  knew  if  I  said  one  word,  they  would 
have  me  put  in  jail  under  some  false  accusation — in  fact,  I 
did  not  know  what  to  do,  and  I  was  afraid  of  trying  to  do 
anything — it  would  only  make  matters  worse.  The  gentle 
man  gave  me  a  quarter  for  bringing  his  things  home ;  so  I 
said  to  myself — this  will  buy  me  a  night's  lodging.  So  I 
slept  all  night  in  the  same  tavern  in  order  that  I  might 
watch  them.  They  got  drunk  and  kept  it  up  nearly  all 
night.  I  got  up  very  early  and  took  my  station  where  I 
could  mark  all  their  movements." 


100  MBS.  BEN  DARBY. 

"  Did  you  see  me  again  ?"  asked  Elinor. 

"  Yes,  in  the  evening,  when  you  were  riding  in  the  stage 
to  Richmond ;  I  was  on  the  outside  with  the  driver.  At 
night,  when  the  moon  was  shining  as  bright  as  day,  I 
peeped  in,  when  the  gentlemen  were  dozing,  and  saw  you 
turning  over  the  leaves  of  a  little  book." 

"Oh,  yes!  I  mind  now,"  said  Elinor;  "but  I  did  not 
see  you." 

"  I  didn't  intend  you  should  then,  Miss  Elinor.  You 
staid  in  Richmond  three  days,  and  I  was  not  very  far  off — 
near  enough  to  watch  the  folks  every  time  they  left  the 
doors.  I  thought  to  myself,  that  I  had  just  as  well  keep 
on  following  them — for  I  knew  they  would  stop  s,ome  time ; 
and  I  thought,  too,  it  was  just  as  well  to  stay  and  seek  my 
fortune  now,  as  to  go  back  and  begin  again — for  you  know, 
I  have  got  it  to  make,  and  the  sooner  the  better." 

"I  tell  you,  brother,"  said  Hannah,  "'a  rolling  stone 
gathers  no  moss;'  but  go  on,  we  have  very  little  time." 

"  I  came  to  New  York  on  the  same  packet-boat  with 
you,  Miss  Elinor,  and  when  we  landed  here,  as  we  left  the 
boat,  Mr.  Darby  gave  me  his  portmanteau  and  cloak,  and 
bade  me  follow  him.  I  passed  along  through  the  crowd, 
close  behind  him,  and  when  we  reached  the  hotel  I 
deposited  the  articles  according  to  order.  As  he  was  get 
ting  his  purse  open  he  looked  at  me  very  hard  and  said  : 

"  'I  have  seen  you  before  ?' 

"  '  Yes,  sir.' 

" '  Where  ?' 

"  'At  Petersburg,  sir,  and  perhaps  on  the  packet- 
boat.' 

" '  Where  are  you  going  ?'  said  he. 


MRS.  BEN  DAKBV.  101 

"'I  am  not  going  anywhere,'  said  I. 

"  '  Do  you  not  belong  to  this  city?'  said  he — 'you  look 
new  and  verdant.' 

"  '  Henceforth,  sir,'  said  I,  '  it  is  my  intention  to  live  in 
a  city.' 

"  '  Come  to  find  mischief  to  do,  hey?' 

"  'No  sir,'  said  I,  '  I  hope  not.' 

"  'What  can  you  do?' 

"  'Almost  anything  that  is  right  and  decent,'  said  I. 

"  '  I  will  give  you  employment  in  a  retail  liquor  store,  if 
that  will  suit'  you.  I  like  your  looks — you  have  nothing 
sneaking  about  you.' 

"  '  I  would  not  like  to  be  in  a  liquor  store,  sir;  I  have 
no  relish  for  the  business,  and  I  don't  want  to  be  in  the  way 
of  temptation.' 

"  '  You  are  a  bigger  fool  than  I  took  you  to  be,'  said 
he — giving  me  fifty  cents — as  he  said — for  my  trouble  and 
old  acquaintance-sake.  I  did  not  feel  well  to  take  his 
money,  but  knew  my  situation  was  urgent,  and  that  I  must, 
of  course,  subdue  my  feelings  and  many  wants,  even  to 
live  in  such  a  place  and  be  honest.  Just  as  I  turned  off 
from  the  hotel  door,  and  was  looking  up  and  down,  won 
dering  at  the  splendor  and  show  of  novelties  that  presented 
themselves ' ' 

"  Like  a  cat  in  a  strange  garret,"  said  Hannah. 

"  Well,  while  I  stood  there,  some  one  pulled  me  by  the 
shoulder  and  said,  '  Halloo !  Theodore,  is  this  you,  or  is  it 
your  ghost  ?' — and  who  do  you  think  it  was,  Miss  Elinor?" 

"My  papa?" 

"No— but  Peter  Larkins." 


102  MRS.  BEN  DAEBY. 

"  Peter  Larkins  ?" 

"Yes;  in  New  York,!    I  tell  you,  Miss,  he  looked " 

"  Natural  as  a  gourd,"  said  Hannah. 

"Was  he  drunk?"  asked  the  child. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,  Miss — then  he  told  me  he  had  been  put 
in  jail,  since  we  left,  and  how  he  had  made  his  escape  and 
was  on  his  way  to  Ohio,  where  he  intended  to  reform,  and 
then  send  for  his  family. 

"  He  took  me  to  the  house  he  had  stopped  at,  and  we 
passed  the  night  together.  He  told  me  that  the  gentle 
men,  who  had  taken  you  away,  were  your  mother's  rela 
tions,  and  that  no  evil  could  befall  you — that  they  were 
bringing  you  to  your  mother;  and  I  am  very  glad  that 
such  was  the  case ;  but  still,  I  know  enough  to  be  very 
certain  that  they  did  not  have  any  good  motive  in  stealing 
you  off  in  the  way  they  did.  I  told  him  so — but  he  said  we 
could  do  nothing  now,  that  we  were  poor  and  friendless — and 
it  was  useless  to  confront  them — that  I  must  write  back  to 
the  Gap  and  let  them  know  where  you  are.  Poor  fellow  1  I 
felt  very  sorry  for  him.  He  wanted  to  divide  his  funds 
with  me,  but  I  would  not  hear  of  it.  I  told  him  that  I  was 
rich  in  health  and  strength  and  could  get  along. 

"So  you  like  your  home,  Miss  Elinor?  how  could  you 
help  it! — everything  so  fine." 

"Ah !  brother,"  said  Hannah,  "  appearances  are  deceit 
ful — all  is  not  gold  that  glitters — this  is  no  place,  I  tell  you, 
for  that  child,  and  the  sooner  she  gets  away  the  better — 
but  go  on  with  your  story." 

"It  is  nearly  finished.  As  I  stood  on  the  pier  looking  at 
the  boat  in  which  Peter  had  taken  his  passage,  a  man 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  103 

called  to  me  and  asked  me  to  take  a  dog  up  to  the  museum 
for  him — it  was  a  very  queer-looking  animal.  I  carried  it 
up  for  him,  and  he  gave  me  a  dollar  and  offered  me  some 
thing  to  drink.  I  told  him  I  never  drank  anything  strongei 
than  water.  '  That 's  a  fine  fellow — and  if  you  take  my 
advice,  you  never  will,'  said  he." 

"  I  warrant  you,  he  took  a  little  himself,"  said  Hannah; 
"  good  preachers  give  their  hearers  fruits,  not  flowers." 

"  Yes,  I  saw  him  afterward,  and  he  was  stumbling  along 
as  drunk  as  a  loon,.  I  expect,  he  had  drank  up  his  dog." 

"  That  is  going  the  whole  dog,  brother,  is  it  not?" 

"I  should  say  it  was." 

"  Tell  on,  Theodore,  you  are  almost  as  interesting  as 
Robinson  Crusoe!" 

"  Oh  !  no,  Miss  Elinor." 

"Yes,  but  you  know,  it  is  not  just  like  it — for  you  could 
not  be  put  to  it  so  in  a  city  where  there  are  so  many 
things — you  could  not  act  Robinson  Crusoe  here." 

"  I  tell  you  it  is  a  hundred  times  harder,  children  getting 
along,  in  a  city,  than  on  a  desolate  island — if  you  believe 
my  racket — flesh  and  blood  rubbing  against  flesh  and 
blood !  I  tell  you,  it  is  better  to  be  in  solitude  and  alone — 
but  finish  your  story,  brother." 

"It  is  finished,"  said  Theodore.  "I  found  I  could  get 
work  as  a  daily  laborer,  and  chance  brought  me  to  the 
building  opposite." 

"  Not  chance — Oh !  no — not  chance,  Theodore ;  there  is 
no  chance — it  was  Providence,"  cried  Elinor,  with  great 
earnestness  —  "  God  watches  over  tfs  —  God  is  every 
where." 

"  Yes,  children,  God  is  still  where  he  was — but  say,  Mr. 


104  MRS.  BEN  DABBY. 

Theodore,  you  can  tell  us  something  else — where  do  you 
board?" 

"Oh!"  said  he,  looking  down  and  blushing — "boarding 
is  out  of  the  question — that  is  further  a-head  yet." 

"Well,  who  eats  and  washes  you?" 

"  Nobody  eats  me,  and  I  wash  myself,"  said  Theodore, 
laughing. 

"  But  where  do  you  stay  ?" 

"  I  stay  about  the  building  all  day,  and  sometimes  at 
night  —  and  when  I  am  hungry,  I  buy  something  at  the 
stalls  to  eat." 

"  Theodore,  you  have  no  home !"  said  little  Elinor,  and 
the  tears  fell  from  her  eyes. 

"No,  Elinor,"  replied  the  youth  in  a  low,  soft  tone — 
"no  home — no  friends!"  and  his  lips  quivered  with  emo 
tion — "  I  know  none  here  but  you,  Elinor!" 

"  You  must  not  live  this  way,  brother  —  it  is  not  right; 
after  I  put  Miss  Elinor  to  bed,  I  will  go  with  you  to  Green 
wich  street,  where  you  can  get  quite  genteel  boarding — 
where  you  can  stay  of  a  night,  and  not  sleep  out  as  you 
have  done." 

"  I  am  so  afraid  of  bad  company." 

"You  will  find  folks  there  like  yourself;  it  is  kept  by  a 
very  decent  old  woman.  She  will  not  have  fracases  about 
her ;  when  servants  get  out  of  place,  they  stay  there  until 
they  find  a  new  situation." 

"  Servants  !"  said  Elinor,  with  emphasis.  "  Theodore  is 
no  servant;  he  belongs  to  one  of  the  first  families  in  Vir 
ginia." 

"He  is  a  poor  young  person,"  returned  Hannah,  a  little 
piqued,  "  and  has  to  do  the  best  he  can.  I  tell  you,  it  does 


MBS.  BEN  DAKBr.  105 

mighty  little  good  to  belong  to  a  first-rate  family,  in  any 
place,  when  one  finds  themselves  in  the  center  of  New 
York,  with  empty  pockets  and  no  rich  kin.  An  ounce  of 
gold  is  better  than  a  pound  of  honor." 

"Yes,  Miss  Elinor,"  replied  Theodore,  "Hannah  is* 
right  ;  I  must  do  the  best  I  can ;  but  Miss  Elinor,  you  ought 
to  find  out  where  your  papa  is,  and  let  him  hear  that  you 
are  safe." 

"He  would  not  think  she  was  very  secure,"  said  Han 
nah,  "if  he  knew  she  was  here  in  this  place  ;  he  does  not 
wish  her  to  be  with  Tier  mother  ;  only  just  hear  them  now. 
What  did  he  take  you  away  for?" — she  spoke  rapidly,  but 
in  a  low  tone — "  he  does  not  want  you  corrupted." 

"  Mamma  will  take  care  of  me." 

"  She  is  not  capable  of  taking  care  of  herself,"  replied 
Hannah,  looking  significantly  at  the  youth. 

"  Why,  Hannah  ?" 

"  Because  she  is  remarkable  weak,"  replied  the  girl, 
winking  at  Theodore;  "  sometimes  she  is  so  weak  she  can 
scarcely  walk  at  all." 

"  Then  I  ought  to  stay  with  her  and  lead  her,"  said 
Elinor.  "  Oh  !  Theodore,  I  wish  you  could  see  my  mam 
ma  ;  she  is  very  beautiful." 

"  Yes,  when  she  is  at  herself  she  is  a  very  nice  lady  ; 
but  she  is  very  often  ill-disposed.  I  will  put  this  young 
lady  to  bed,  and  then  I  will  go  with  you,  sir." 

"  Theodore  must  come  again  ;  will  you  not  ?" 

"  It  is  just  as  Hannah  says  ;  I  want  to  do  right.  I  can't 
say  what  is  proper  ;  for  what  is  right  in  one  place,  may 
not  be  so  in  another." 

"Yes,  indeed,  you  shall  come  some  night  when  the  folks 


106  MRS.  BEN  DAKBY. 

are  away;  but  don't  show  your  face  here  in  daytime,  or 
you  will  be  suspected." 

Elinor  was  very  sorry  to  part  from  her  old  playmate,  but 
felt  comforted  by  the  assurance  of  seeing  him  again. 

Elinor  had  not  been  with  her  mother  three  weeks  before 
she  became  weary  of  the  change.  The  presence  of  the 
child  was  a  check  on  her  usual  habits.  She  drank,  it  is 
true,  but  maternal  love  and  womanly  pride  withheld  her  from 
exposing  herself  to  the  pity  and  contempt  of  her  discrim 
inating  child.  Things  could  not  long  remain  thus ;  Mrs. 
Temple  lost,  by  degrees,  the  influence  of  her  better  feelings, 
and  returned  again,  with  renewed  relish  and  fresh  avidity, 
to  her  virulent  course  of  conduct. 

The  insinuations  of  Hannah  were  lost  on  the  .innocent 
and  ingenuous  child.  She  knew  that  men  sometimes  be 
came  intoxicated.  She  had  seen,  to  her  great  disgust,  the 
preference  her  mother  bestowed  on  the  dissipated  Darby. 
The  knowledge  of  the  fact  had  cost  her  much,  but  when 
she  discovered  the  mystery  of  her  folly,  it  came  on  her  like 
a  death-stroke  ;  the  fresh  buoyancy  of  childhood  was  gone, 
never  to  return — the  outgushing  joy  of  youth  was  pressed 
back  upon  the  heart.  The  gentle,  yet  proud  child,  was 
crushed — mortified — humiliated. 

A  drunken  woman  !  and  that  woman  her  mother — the 
wife  of  her  honest,  frank,  high-minded  father.  Now  she 
knew  how  he  suffered  ;  why  his  cheek  was  pale  ;  why  his 
voice  trembled.  Now  she  knew  all — yes,  all. 

She  had  been  out  with  Hannah  to  the  bird-store,  and  had 
returned  in  childish  hilarity,  with  the  sweetest  bird  in  the 
world,  and  springing  lightly  into  the  room,  she  threw  her 
arms  rather  rudely  around  the  neck  of  her  mother. 


MRS.  BEN  DARBr.  107 

Mrs.  Temple,  who  had  made  frequent  visits  that  morning 
to  her  china  boutelle,  was  in  the  land  of  visions  and  mental 
aberrations,  almost  unable  to  realize  who  or  where  she  was. 
The  hearty  embrace  of  little  Elinor's  vigorous  arms,  threw 
her  into  a  violent  rage  ;  she  seized  her  by  the  throat,  and 
after  choking  her  nearly  breathless,  she  pushed  her  off 
with  so  much  force  that  the  child's  head  struck  against  the 
bedstead  post,  and  hurt  her  very  much. 

Hannah  rescued  the  child  from  her,  and  administered  to 
her  necessities. 

Overcome  with  excitement,  Mrs.  Temple  threw  herself 
back  on  the  sofa,  like  a  worried  hyena. 

Poor  little  girl !  she  turned  from  the  loathsome,  degrad 
ing  sight,  burying  her  face  in  her  hands  ;  her  convulsive 
sobs  and  bitter  tears,  told  how  deeply  aggrieved  she  felt, 
and  how  irretrievable  her  destiny. . 

"  What  are  you  sitting  there  for,  Elinor,  as  if  you  were 
screwed  to  the  win-ther  ?"  said  Mrs.  Temple,  trying  in 
vain  to  raise  herself  from  her  ungraceful  attitude;  "come 
here — raise  the  curtain." 

Elinor  came  close  to  her. 

"  Are  you  homesick — tired  already  of  me  ?" 

"  No!  no,  mamma." 

"Whisper,  then,  love,  and  tell  me  why  you  are  discon 
tented  ? — you  shall  tell  me — I  have  a  right  to  compel  you — 
come,  speak  out,"  and  Mrs.  Temple  strung  the  long  curls 
of  the  child  through  her  fingers,  with  as  much  sang-froid 
as  if  she  was  asking  the  simplest  question  in  the  world — 
"  Oh  !  how  you  pucker  up  your  features  ;  you  will  spoil 
your  beauty." 

"  Beauty  is  very  little  account,  sometimes,  Miss  Elinor, 


108  MKS.  BEN  DABBY. 

unless  it  goes  in  company  with  good  behavior,"  said  Han 
nah,  letting  down  one  curtain,  and  drawing  up  the  other 
with  a  prophetic  vehemence.  "Some  people  preach,  but 
never  practice." 

"  Come,  dear,  we  will  adjourn  to  the  parlor,  and  let 
Hannah  finish  the  room." 

"  No  !  no !  mamma,  please  stay,"  cried  Elinor,  holding 
her  down.  "  You  must  not — you  can't  go  down." 

"  I  can't? — I  would  like  to  see  you  prevent  me.  I  must 
go."  She  raised  herself  up,  and  tried  to  hold  by  the  fur 
niture. 

"  Let  her  go,  Miss  Elinor." 

"No!  no!  mamma — have  mercy  on  me,  if  you  have 
lost  all  shame  for  yourself ;  the  parlor  is  full  of  ladies — it 
is  such  a  disgrace." 

"  She  ain't  a-going,  dear — she  shall  not,"  and  Hannah 
passed  swiftly  before  her  and  closed  the  door,  then  turned 
the  key. 

Mrs.  Temple,  when  she  found  she  could  not  get  out, 
seated  herself,  and  looked  very  silly. 

"  Mamma,"  cried  Elinor,  falling  on  her  knee  before  her, 
"if  you  knew  how  miserable  I  feel,  you  never  would  do  so 
again." 

"  I  never  will  strike  you  again." 

"  Oh  !  it  is  not  that,  mamma — I  mean  drinking." 

"  Well,  put  down  the  curtains  ;  don't  cry,  love  ;"  Elinor 
obeyed  in  fear  and  trembling ;  "  there,  put  it  dowel — 
I  declare  you  are  the  roughest  gawk  I  ever  saw,  you 
great  mountain  pine-knot — come  to  your  mamma,  dear  — 
who  has  been  throobling  my  darling — who  has  interfered 
with  mamma's  wild  daisy  !" 


MRS.  BEN  DARBT.  109 

"Not  I,  madam,  if  you  mean  me;"  said  Hannah,  jerking 
up  the  things  which  were  out  of  place,  "A  body's  friends 
sometimes  is  a  body's  worst  enemies — I  never  put  my 
spoon  in  other  people's  platters." 

"My  darling,"  continued  the  lady,  "why  are  you 
crying  ?" 

"  Oh  !  my  mamma,  I  feel  very  unhappy  indeed,  but  I 
cannot  tell  you  why." 

"  But  you  shall,  Miss  ;  you  need  not-think  I  don't  know 
you  have  been  taught  to  hate  me — I  feel  you  never  will 
love  me." 

"  Oh  I  did  love  her — did  I  not  Hannah  ?  and  I  could 
love  you,  my  own  dear  mamma,  if " 

"  That  is  a  little,  long,  narrow  word,"  said  Hannah,  in  a 
low  tone,  "  but  it  takes  up  a  heap  of  room  when  it  comes  in." 

"  No  doubt,  you  would  have  loved  me,  if  you  had  not 
been  taught  better — I  am  sure  I  have  done  all  I  couth 
to  please  you — but  ungraihful  people " 

"  Oh  !  indeed,  I  am  not  ungrateful,  mamma — indeed  I 
am  not." 

"  Well !  wipe  that  black  place  off  your  face,  and  look 
happy  and  smiling." 

"  I  can't  get  it  off,  mamma." 

"  Let  Hannah  try." 

"It  is  past  Hannah's  skill,"  said  the  girl,  menacingly; 
"you  had  better  send  for  the  doctor." 

"Why,  what  is  it!"  inquired  Mrs.  Temple,  completely 
bewildered. 

"It  is  where  you  struck  her,  or  choked  her,"  said 
Hannah  ;  "  and  mind,  if  she  dies  with  that  on  her  face,  it 
will  be  the  worse  for  you." 


110  MRS.  BEN  DAKBI-. 

Mrs.  Temple  laughed  in  a  horrid,  idiotical  way,  and 
tapping  her  fingers  on  the  sofa,  as  if  she  was  playing  on 
the  piano,  and  faintly  muttering,  "  You  certainly  all  are 
turned  fools,"  lay  back  quite  motionless. 

The  little  weeper  sat  at  the  window,  the  tears  falling 
thick  and  fast.  The  window  was  her  refuge  from  per 
plexity.  She  could  not  but  forget  for  a  few  moments,  her 
own  situation,  in  watching  the  variety  of  groups,  that  pre 
sented  such  new  and  unthought  of  pictures  to  the  observer. 
The  richly  dressed,  the  flaunting  figures  which  exhibited 
themselves  on  the  street — the  wretched,  tattered,  abject 
and  houseless  vagabond,  hurrying  to  and  fro,  as  if  pro 
pelled  by  some  invisible  spring  —  the  brilliant  carriages, 
rolling  up  and  down  Broadway,  and  the  drays  and  ice 
carts ;  the  rich  and  poor,  bond,  free,  rumbling  and  tumb 
ling  helter-skelter,  knock-me-down  crowd,  that  moved  to 
and  fro  like  a  double  panorama — 

"  Miss  Elinor,"  and  some  one  touched  her  shoulder, 
"  come  help  me  to  lay  your  mother  on  the  sofa,  she  will 
slide  directly,  and  break  her  Grecian  nose,  as  she  calls  it." 

"  Please,  Hannah,"  said  Elinor,  struggling  hard  to 
subdue  her  emotion,  "  don't  laugh  at  her,  it  is  so 
hard." 

"  Don't  I  know  how  the  shoe  pinches,  Miss  Elinor ;  I 
have  just  sich  a  mother,  only,  mine  is  poor,  friendless,  and 
has  a  poor,  weak,  degraded  husband.  Ah  !  it  is  me  that 
can  feel  for  you — it  is  only  my  way  of  talking  and  doing. 
If  I  could  help  it  I  would — but  what  is  bred  in  the  bone 
will  never  come  out  of  the  flesh." 

"  You  speak  so  lightly,  Hannah." 

"  The  truth  is,  somehow  or  other — I  don't  know  how  it 


MRS.  BKN  DABUIT.  Ill 

is,  but  it  is  so.  There  are  so  many  feelings  mixed  up  to 
gether,  when  you  see  a  person  intoxicated,  that  pity  makes 
a  very  poor  show." 

"  But  listen,  Hannah — when  that  person  is  your  own 
dear  mother  ?" 

"  Miss  Elinor,  when  you  have  worried  and  fretted,  and 
worked,  as  I  have,  with  the  unreasonableness  of  such 
folks,  your  patience  will  get  threadbare — but  I  don't  know, 
you  have  a  softer  heart  than  mine,  and  you  must  not  stay 
here  until  it  becomes  as  hard  as  a  nether  mill-stone.  Lift 
up  your  mamma's  foot — there,  place  it  on  the  ottoman — 
there — stretch  down  the  dress  a  little  further  over  the 
foot.  She  looks  like  a  bride  elect !"  « 

"  What  is  elect  ?"  asked  the  child. 

"  Why  going  to  be — hand  me  that  vail,  dear,  to  spread 
over  this  yawning  abyss  of  punch  and  wine." 

"  Oh,  please,  Hannah  !" 

"Never  mind,  dear — all's  well  that  ends  well — there 
now — I  hope  she  will  sleep  until  I  do  all  I  have  to  do— 
good  saints  !  she  breathes  like  an  alligator — so  come,  dar 
ling,  let's  go  up  to  the  Bowery." 

"Mamma  said  I  must  not  leave  the  house  without  her 
knowledge." 

"  She  meant  by  yourself,  child." 

"Did  she?" 

"  Certainly ;  you  never  supposed  she  intended  to  keep 
you  like  a  bird  in  a  cage — you  went  with  me  this  morning, 
why  not  this  evening — what's  good  for  the  fish  is  good  for 
the  sauce." 

"  I  am  afraid." 


112  MRS.  BEN  DARBT. 

"  Afraid  of  whom  ?" 

"  Mamma  ;  and  afraid  of  doing  wrong." 

"  You  are  not  in  duty  bound  to  mind  her  ;  and  be 
side,  she  told  you  we  might  go  out  for  bird-seed,  you 
know." 

"  Oh  yes !  she  did — I  will  go  with  you." 

"  You  must  go  with  me — I  can't  leave  you  here  with 
your  mother  in  this  condition,  you  are  in  danger  of  being 
murdered — only  see  your  poor  bruised  up  face — you  look 
as  if  you  had  been  in  a  row  at  the  Five-points — come,  get 
your  hat  on,  and  as  it  is  quite  cool  out,  you  must  put  your 
mantle  on." 

.Little  Elinor  was  so  painfully  occupied  in  bitter  reflec 
tions,  that  she  did  not  pay  any  attention  to  the  hurry-flurry 
proceedings  of  her  waiting-maid — how  quickly  she  turned 
the  articles  of  the  toilette — cramming  her  basket  with 
brushes,  soap,  combs,  etc.  She  then  gathered  up  the  most 
valuable  articles  of  the  child's  wardrobe.  Finally,  when 
they  got  to  the  door,  Hannah  said;  "  Here,  Miss,  you  will 
have  to  carry  this  wallet,  it  will  not  hurt  you,  if  you  are 
aristocracy." 

"  I  wish  to  help  you,  Hannah,  you  are  so  kind  to  me — 
but  what  are  you  taking  such  a  load  for — all  the  brushes 
and  combs  ?" 

"He  who  asks  questions,"  said  Hannah,  looking  very 
mysteriously  at  the  child,  "  often  hears  more  than  he 
wants — so,  dear,  keep  your  mouth  shut,  and  your  eyes 
open." 

"  Do  tell  me,  why  you  are  taking  the  bird-cage 
out  ?" 


MRS.  BEN  DAKBY.  113 

"  To  air  the  dear  little  creature,  so  come  on,  love." 
"This  is  not  the  way  to  the  Bowery!"  said  Elinor,  as  she 
turned  down  Maiden  Lane. 

"  There  are  more  ways  to  the  gallows  than  one,"  re 
plied  Hannah,  dragging  the  child  with  her  down  a  little, 
dirty,  crowded  alley,  where  they  were  soon  lost  in  the 

crowd. 

10 


114  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 


Cluster   11. 


Together  thus  they  shunn'd  the  cruel  scorn 
Which  virtue,  sunk  to  poverty,  would  meet 
From  giddy  passion  and  low-minded  pride. — THOMSON. 

ON  Abingdon-square,  in  a  dilapidated  building,  afford 
ing  but  little  shelter,  so  frail  and  decayed  that  it  could 
scarcely  be  called  a  dwelling,  sojourned  the  family  of  Simon 
Fairmont.  The  rooms  were  scantily  furnished,  but  in  the 
arrangement  of  the  household  everything  was  placed  to 
the  best  advantage.  Some  few  cherished  ornaments  on  the 
mantle-piece,  souvenirs  of  the  past,  and  a  neat  little  work- 
table,  with  a  rocking-chair,  remained  as  attestations  of 
brighter  and  more  prosperous  days. 

Mrs.  Fairmont  had  taken  very  hard  lessons  of  privation 
and  sorrow  since  the  early  days  of  marriage,  (such  as  thou 
sands  have  borne).  She  had  passed  through  many  heart 
breaking  scenes,  such  as  would  have  crushed  the  heart  and 
spirits  had  she  not  learned  humility  and  fortitude  of  Him 
who  lingered  with  the  woman  of  Samaria  at  the  well — who 
whispered  to  Mary  that  her  sins  were  forgiven,  and  peace  to 
the  Syro-Phoenician  heroine,  who  begged  only  for  the 
crumbs  of  his  compassion.  Every  drunkard's  wife  needs 
Divine  support — a  double  portion.  Mrs.  Fairmont  sought, 
not  only  to  fulfill  her  duty,  but  also  those  of  her  husband, 
as  far  as  she  could  ;  striving  to  remedy  the  evils  which 
intemperance  was  bringing  upon  her  young  and  growing 
family  ;  teaching  them  lessons  of  forbearance  and  content- 


MKS.  BEN  DARBY.  115 

ment/ — to  lay  up  treasures  in  that  world  where  the  con 
temned  sojourners  of  this  life  find  reparation  and  repose. 

The  cruel,  inexorable  husband  was  forced  to  see  and  feel 
her  superiority;  to  acknowledge  that  her  life  was  irreproach 
able.  She  trusted  in  her  Savior,  and  the  precepts  of  his 
Heavenly  doctrine  opened  in  her  soul  a  fountain  of  living 
waters.  Her  religion  raised  her  above  the  calamities  of 
earth  ;  although  she  was  now  experiencing,  among  all 
her  other  troubles,  the  ravages  of  want — the  pinchings  of 
poverty,  and  all  the  horrors  which  throng,  like  evil  specters, 
about  the  dwelling  of  the  confirmed  drunkard.  Her  life 
had  been  made  up  of  privations,  humiliation,  and  exertion ; 
yet  never,  in  all  the  phases  of  his  wayward  career,  had  she 
seen  one  hope  of  reformation  ;  but  every  year  added  to  her 
grievances,  until  all  hope  of  a  change  was  banished  from 
her  mind.  When  Fairmont  found  his  wife  was  getting,  as 
he  called  it,  be-sainted,  he  raised  a  terrible  scene — swore 
he  would  break  her  neck,  or  else  he  would  break  her  of 
that  trick. 

One  evening  he  found  she  had  gone  to  church,  and  he 
determined  to  follow  her  thither,  and  see  for  himself  how 
things  were  managed.  The  services  were  nearly  con 
cluded  when  he  entered. 

The  sexton  met  him  at  the  door,  and  seeing  his 
condition,  would  not  let  him  in.  He  was  boisterous, 
and  made  great  confusion,  and  was  driven  off  by  the 
officers  of  the  police.  He  was  at  home  when  his  wife 
returned. 

"  You  talk  about  late  hours,"  said  he,  looking  daggers 
at  his  inoffensive  wife.  "  What  do  you  think  of  yourself, 
madam  ;  now  answer  me  that,  will  you?" 


116  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

She  laid  her  hat  off,  and  seated  herself  in  her  usual 
place,  with  a  calm,  unruffled  countenance. 

"  You  are  wonderfully  composed  madam.  I  suppose 
you  are  showing  me  how  Christians  can  fight  the  devil : 
well,  madam,  if  that's  your  game,  we'll  see  who  is  master. 
If  you  suppose  that  I  will  put  up  with  such  folly  as  you  are 
practicing  you  are  mistaken  ;  do  you  hear  ?  Stay  at  home, 
madam  :  do  you  comprehend  me ! 

"  I  do,  sir."  , 

"  You  have  that  much  sense  left,  hey?  Mind,  you  must, 

in  future,  stay  away  from  that  d d  old  humbug  of  a 

church,  crying  and  groaning  as  if  the  devil  was  after  you 
with  a  long  pole.  You  will  stay  at  home !" 

"Will  you  stay  with  me,  dear?" 

"  I  '11  teach  you,  madam,  that  my  business  is  my  own, 
and  yours  is  to  obey." 

"We  will  not  quarrel,  Fairmont.  Oh!  do  not  be 
harsh !" 

"Answer  me  one  question — Do  you  intend  to  keep  up 
this  mummery  of  praying  and  shouting?" 

"  It  is  not  foolishness — leave  me,  my  husband,  at  least 
the  comfort  of  worshiping  my  God  in  peace  !" 

"  Do  you  intend  to  keep  it  up?" 

"  God  being  my  helper,  I  will  try  and  do  my  duty !" 

"And  frequent  that  old  musty  crowd  of  groaning 
hypocrites  ?" 

"  I  most  assuredly  will,"  said  Mrs.  Fairmont,  as  if  driven 
to  sudden  resolution.  "  There  is  your  God !"  and  she 
pointed  to  a  decanter  which  he  had  emptied — "you  wor 
ship  it  with  all  the  powers  of  soul  and  body.  Wife,  home 
and  children,  character  and  health  are  all  sacrificed  to 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  117 

appease  its  demands.  You  devote  all  to  it — leave  me, 
then,  the  privilege  of  worshiping  my  God!" 

"  Do  you  see  this?"  and  he  showed  her  a  small  rattan, 
•which  he  madly  raised  over  her  head — "  do  you  see  this?" 

"Yes,  Mr.  Fairmont — but  what  of  it?" 

"Why  the  next  time,  madam,  you  are  found  in  that 
lying,  hypocritical  muss,  I  '11  give  you  something  that  will 
make  you  shout  in  good  earnest.  I  '11  see,  Mrs.  Fairmont, 
which  is  the  strongest,  me  or  your  religion!" 

"  Oh,  husband !"  cried  Mrs.  Fairmont,  pressing  her 
hands  to  her  ears — "you  are  chilling  me  to  the  heart!" 

"  I  '11  do  it — don't  you  believe  it  ?" 

"  You  think  you  will ;  but  I  will  pray  to  my  heavenly 
Father,  who  is  in  heaven,  to  soften  your  heart  toward  her 
who  has  loved  you  so  fondly — so  truly.  Oh !  no !  hus 
band,  you  could  not  strike  me!" 

"I  could  not?  By  thunder!  I'll  see  who  will  prevent 
me?" 

Rushing  forward,  like  a  demon,  he  caught  her  by  the 
hair,  and  drawing  her  down  on  her  knees,  was  just  in  the 
act  of  striking,  when  his  passion  and  fury  were  checked 
suddenly  by  spasms,  and  he  fell  in  convulsions  on  the  floor. 

When  Mr.  Fairmont  began  to  recover  from  his  indisposi 
tion,  he  seemed  kinder  to  his  wife.  He  did  not  resume  the 
subject  of  her  attendance  at  church ;  but  when  he  was  per 
fectly  sober,  his  wife  seated  herself  by  him,  and  taking  his 
hand,  talked  to  him,  in  a  firm,  placid  way,  of  her  future 
expectations,  and  concluded  by  telling  him  that  she  wanted 
it  perfectly  understood,  that  he  was  not  to  interfere  with 
her  religious  exercises. 

"  Whenever  you  find  that  it  makes  me  neglect  my  duties 


118  MBS.  BEN  DARBT. 

at  home,  or  causes  me  to  be  less  kind  and  devoted  in  all 
things — then  you  may  interfere." 

He  finally  agreed  to  this,  and  it  was  mutually  understood 
that  she  was  to  go  to  church  just  when  she  pleased,  and 
where  she  pleased. 

Fairmont  loved  his  wife  ;  trusted  her  implicitly,  and  so 
truly  did  he  credit  her  religious  feelings,  that  he  sometimes 
almost  fancied  he  saw  a  halo  of  glory  around  her  head, 
such  as  Mary  wears  in  the  assembly  of  the  Nativity. 

For  the  last  four  years,  Mr.  Fairmont  had  quit  all  busi 
ness,  and  spent  his  whole  time  in  drinking  and  gambling. 
Sometimes  he  had  money,  and  spent  it  lavishly  ;  then, 
for  days  and  weeks,  they  were  suffering  the  stings  of  pov 
erty. 

It  was  night,  and  the  rain  spattered  against  the  windows, 
shaking  the  crazy  tenement ;  and  the  oft-repeated  gusts  of 
wind  that  blew  up  from  North  river,  swept  round  the  dwell 
ing  in  a  perfect  storm,  shaking  the  loose  shingles  from 
the  roof,  and  shattering  the  swinging  window-blinds.  Mrs. 
Fairmont  sat  by  a  small  candle-stand,  sewing  with  unabat- 
ing  zeal.  She  was  a  few  years  older  than  her  half-sister, 
Mrs.  Temple  ;  slight  in  figure,  and  delicate  complexion. 
She  was  pale,  and  looked  fagged  with  toil.  Her  auburn 
hair  lay  in  waves  on  her  smooth  forehead  ;  no  wrinkles  on 
her  face  to  tell  of  the  sorrows  within — a  jarring  temper, 
or  a  broken  heart  ;  but  patience  and  hope,  faith  and  love, 
by  turns,  lent  life  and  beauty  to  her  every  feature.  She 
worked  on. 

"  Almost  done,  mother  dear  ?"  said  her  daughter,  kneel 
ing  before  her  on  a  little  stool. 

"  Almost,  Kate." 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  119 

"  You  look  so  tired,  mother ;  I  wish  I  could  work  the 
button-holes.  "  Mother,  can  you  sleep  while  it  storms 
so?" 

"  I  mean  to  try,  dear." 

"  Do  you  love  to  hear  the  rain  rattle  on  the  roof?" 

"I  used  to,  when  I  was  a  child,  and  lived  at  uncle  Jef- 
fy's ;  but  our  roof  is  too  crazy  and  open.  I  like  to  be  well 
sheltered  in  such  weather." 

"  There  is  a  pretty  stiff  gale,"  said  a  boy  who  came  in 
with  a  load  of  broken  sticks  and  barrel-hoops — a  small 
bundle  of  fagots  to  kindle  his  morning's  fire.  "  See,  Kate, 
I  have  provided,  like  Abraham,  the  materials  for  a  fire, 
but  where  is  the  lamb  ?" 

"  God  will  provide  it,  my  son,"  said  the  mother. 

"  Is  papa  gone  ?" 

"Long  ago." 

"  And  are  we  to  have  no  supper  !" 

"  No  one  needs  supper,"  replied  Kate,  twining  her  arms 
around  his  neck — "  we  had  a  late  dinner." 

"  Yes,  and  a  poor  one  at  that — potatoes  and  tea." 

"  You  must  not  grumble,  my  son  ;  we  are  better  off  now 
than  a  good  many  other  people." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  them,"  said  the  boy,  "just  to  hear 
them  say  how  they  feel.  Where  are  they,  mother  ?" 

"  Oh  !  George,  almost  everywhere  in  the  city ;  in  the 
streets,  alleys,  parks — scattered  about  on  the  pavements, 
on  the  docks,  in  the  steam-packets,  on  the  Battery,  at  the 
Bowery  theater,  in  the  hospitals  and  prisons." 

"  Mother,  you  forgot  the  old  Brewery  ;  but  I  am  hungry, 
mother,  very  hungry.  I  deserve  to  have  something  to  eat ; 
I  know  I  do  ?" 


120  MRS.  BEN  DABBY. 

"Why,  brother?" 

"  Because  I  might  have  helped  myself,  and  nobody  would 
ever  have  been  the  wiser.  Kate,  you  know  old  Mrs.  Grun- 
dy,  down  at  the  corner  ?" 

"That  keeps  a  stall,  and  has  pies  and  apples  to  sell? 
Oh!  yes." 

"  The  same .  Just  now  I  was  coming  by,  and  she  called 
me,  and  said,  '  George,  come  here  and  watch  my  table, 
until  I  go  after  that  man  you  see  standing  at  the  drug- store ; 
he  owes  me  two  shillings  ;  you  are  an  honest  boy,  and  I  am 
not  afraid  to  trust  you.'  But  oh  !  mother,  when  I  looked 
down  on  the  nice  pies,  with  the  red  juice  peeping  out,  and 
the  crust,  seeming  as  if  it  was  made  with  a  view  to  make 
the  mouth  water  ;  I  had  to  think  over  my  prayer,  '  lead  me 
not  into  temptation,  but  deliver  me  from  evil.'  The  water 
came  in  my  mouth,  then  in  my  eyes,  and  my  stomach  felt 
as  if  it  had  no  bottom.  I  have  felt  faint  and  weak  ever  since." 

"  There  is  a  can  of  milk  and  a  roll  in  the  cupboard, 
George ;  I  put  it  there  for  Willy ;  but,  perhaps,  he  will 
sleep  all  night." 

"  He  might  not,  mother ;  so  I  will  only  take  half  of 
them." 

"  You  are  right,  my  son  ;  never  be  selfish." 

"  Selfish,  like  father  ?" 

"  Oh  !  George,  I  did  not  say  that." 

"  No,  mother,  you  did  not ;  he  tells  me  that  himself  every 
hour  in  the  day,  in  everything  he  says  and  does." 

"Remember,  son,  '  honor  thy  father  and  mother.'" 

"  I  can't  honor  him ;  it  is  impossible,"  cried  the  boy, 
earnestly,  "you  had  just  as  well  tell  me  to  love  hunger  and 
pain,  or  mortification." 


MKS.  BEN  DAKBY.  121 

"  Oh  !  George  !" 

"A  man  that  has  the  best  wife  in  the  world,  and  chil 
dren  who  are  willing  to  do  right,  and  leaves  them  to  starve 
in  poverty  and  ignorance,  must  expect  to  be  despised, 
and " 

"  Hush,  brother,"  crie"d  the  young  girl.  "You  must  not 
talk  thus." 

"  I  will  not  curse  him,  but  I  will  speak  out.  I  have  borne 
it  as  long  as  I  can.  As  to  myself,  I  don't  care  that,  (and 
he  snapped  his  fingers,)  no,  I  don't!  I  can  get  along;  and 
I  will  not  stay  here,  idling  away  my  time  in  waiting  on  him, 
and  getting  nothing  but  curses  and  kicks  ;  it  don't  pay — I 
have  had  cuffs  and  hard  words  long  enough  ;  and  if  you, 
Kate,  will  wait  on  mother,  and  help  her,  I  will  put  out,  some 
day  to  seek  my  fortune." 

"  Where  will  you  go,  brother  ?" 

"Wherever  Providence  leads  me.  To  see  father  doing  as 
he  does,  is  killing ;  it  will  kill  me — that  and  starvation  to 
gether." 

"  George,"  said  his  mother,  faintly,  and  still  bending  over 
the  shirt  she  was  making,  "  will  you  leave  me  ?" 

"  Not  long,  mother,  dear ;  and  I  will  send  you  money  to 
buy  coffee,  which  you  love  so  well,  and  so  seldom  have  ;  I 
know  I  can  get  work." 

"I  fear  bad  influences,  George." 

"  Bad  influences  !"  repeated  the  son.  "  I  would  like  to 
know  where  I  could  find  worse  examples  than  I  find  some 
times  at  home!  If  my  father  could  not  entice  me  to  drink, 
who  could  ?  I  want  you  to  understand  me,  mother — look 
at  me." 

"She  hasn't  time,  brother." 

11  • 


122  MKS.  BEN  DARBY 

"  I  am  looking,  George." 

"  You  love  me,  mother,  I  know  you  do.  I  am  old  enough 
to  understand  affairs.  My  father  will  never  reform — it  is  a 
thing  impossible  ;  his  treatment  to  you  makes  me  hate 
him." 

"I  do  not  hate  him,  son  ;  why  should  you  ? — it  is  sinful." 

"  Perhaps  it  is,  but  I  can't  help  it.  Let  me  go,  mother, 
or  my  temper  will  get  the  better  of  me,  and  I  may  do 
something  rash.  Do  you  know,  I  have  often  wished  I  was 

dead  ?" 

f 

"  George,  you  must  not  talk  thus  ;  it  is  cruel  to  me,  in 
deed  it  is,"  and  the  poor  mother  brushed  away  a  tear. 

"  I  must  leave  him — the  sooner  the  better,  but  you  shall 
never  regret  it.  I  will  live  for  you,  to  try  and  recom 
pense  you  for  all  your  toil  and  affection." 

"  My  recompense  is  with  Him,  who  will  bestow  it  if  I 
deserve  any ;"  her  voice  was  low  and  faint.  She  looked 
with  a  comfortless  heart  on  the  honest  face  of  her  high- 
minded  boy,  when  she  reflected  on  the  improbability  of, 
his  ever  deriving  any  benefit  from  home,  but  her  feeble  in 
structions,  her  sympathy,  and  advice.  She  sewed  on,  but 
tears  were  gathering  in  her  eyes,  and  sad  thoughts  stirring 
up  the  fountain  of  grief. 

The  conversation  was  interrupted  by  a  heavy  step  on  the 
sill — the  slight  tap  at  the  door,  caused  Mrs.  Fairmont  to 
start. 

"  It  is  not  father,"  said  George,  boldly  venturing  forth 
to  answer  the  call. 

A  bright  smile  rested  on  every  face,  as  Henry  Temple 
entered,  and  seated  himself  among  them.  He  w*  still 
pale  and  thin,  but  looking  much  better  than  he  did  when 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

he  left  the  mountains  of  Virginia.  His  visits  were  alwayV 
a  special  providence  to  the  wants  and  interests  of  the 
family.  Since  he  had  become  acquainted  with  them,  he 
had  sought  every  opportunity  to  relieve  their  embarrass 
ments,  and  add  to  their  comforts.  He  found  sympathy 
and  strength  of  purpose,  in  his  intercourse  with  Mrs.  Fair 
mont  ;  he  learned  from  her  example,  lessons  conducive 
and  profitable  to  his  happiness.  Her  troubles  and  difficul 
ties  were  more  appalling  than  his,  yet  her  serenity  of 
mind,  and  her  abiding  faith,  threw  such  beautiful  rays  over 
the  clouds  which  surrounded  her,  that  he  almost  envied 
her  instead  of  pitying  her  condition.  With  her  he  could 
speak  freely  of  his  feelings — his  plans  ;  and  could  ask  her 
counsel,  and  even  her  assistance,  if  necessary.  He  could 
trust  and  rely  implicitly  on  her  friendship.  Since  Mrs. 
Fairmont  became  a  Methodist,  her  sister  shunned  her; 
they  were  never  congenial,  for  when  an  opportunity  offered, 
the  former  was  very  apt  to  use  her  influence  in  trying  to 
urge  her  to  reform.  Mrs.  Temple,  of  course,  rejected  her 
kind  suggestions,  and  as  they  could  not  be  a  comfort  to 
each  other,  they  gradually  became  estranged.  When 
Mrs.  Fairmont  became  religious,  devotedly  pious,  Mrs. 
Temple  declared  she  could  not,  in  justice  to  herself  or  her 
friends,  associate  with  Jane,  now  she  had  made  a  fool  of 
herself,  by  mingling  with  low  characters,  and  become  so 
enthusiastic  as  to  quit  a  respectable  church,  and  go  where 
there  were  no  pews — sitting  with  Tom,  Dick  and  Harry, 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  Poor  Jane  !  she  had  to  walk 
her  lowly  way  alone  and  uncared  for,  by  the  world,  but 
she  never  faltered.  She  knew  there  was  One  whose  un 
seen  hand  led  her  on  ;  though  the  storm  darkened  and  the 


124  MKS.  BEN  DARBY. 

winds  gathered,  she  drew  closer  and  closer,  trusting  her  all 
to  Him  who  was  able  to  sustain  her. 

"Jane,  you  are  looking  feeble,"  said  her  visitor,  "are 
you  not  well  ?" 

"  I  feel  fatigued — I  must  be  more  careful;"  she  smiled. 

"  Mother  works  too  closely,"  said  Kate. 

"  How  can  she  help  it  ?"  said  George. 

"  Where  is  Fairmont  ?"  asked  Mr.  Temple. 

"I  do  not  know — somewhere  ^in  the  city,  I  suppose — he 
has  been  away  a  great  part  of  his  time  for  the  last  two 
weeks." 

"  How  do  you  get  along,  Jane  ?" 

"  The  best  I  can — always  looking  for  better  days.  You 
received  my  note,  which  was  left  during  your  absence  ?" 
asked  Mrs.  Fairmont. 

"  Yes,  and  a  long  letter  from  home,  giving  me  a  dis 
tressing  account  of  the  daring  adventures  of  Darby  and 
Fairmont.  Now,  how  deeply  your  husband  was  concerned, 
I  cannot  tell ;  I  thought  I  would  see  you  before  I  attempted 
a  rescue." 

"  I  know  nothing  about  their  proceedings,  only  I  have 
seen  the  dear  child — Fairmont  brought  her  here  on  their 
arrival — she  remained  here  while  he  changed  his  dress;  he 
then  took  her " 

"  Where— in  the  city,  I  hope  ?" 

"  Yes,  to  her  mother." 

"  She  is  still  there  !"  cried  he,  springing  from  his  seat — 
"  my  own  precious  child — my  all — Oh  !  Jane,  I  have  not 
one  moment  to  lose." 

."I  suppose,  Henry,  you  know  that  Mary  and  Darby  are 
to  be  married  shortly  ?" 


MRS.  BJSN  DABBY.  125 

"  Of  course — I  have  thought  so  for  some  time.  Well,  be 
it  so — but  my  child,  Jane — I  must  rescue  her.  I  will  re 
turn  in  an  hour  or  so,  and  let  you  know  how  we  get  on." 
As  Temple  left  the  house,  he  whispered  to  George  to 
follow  him. 

"  Your  mother  is  looking  very  feeble,  George,"  said 
he;  "  she  has  been  living,  I  fear,  poorly;  that  must  not  be; 
take  this  and  have  her  a  comfortable  supper — to  morrrow  I 
will  attend  to  your  comforts  more  fully."  George  was 
glad  to  obey,  and  with  a  bounding  step,  he  sought  his  old 
friend,  Mrs.  Grundy,  and  was  trembling  with  excitement, 
lest  the  tempting  pies  had  gone  the  way  of  all  pies,  before 
he  could  have  the  felicity  of  demolishing  at  least  one  of 
them.  While  they  were  rejoicing  over  a  good  supper, 
Temple  was  rolling  down  Broadway  in  an  omnibus." 

He  did  not  know  exactly  where  Mrs.  Temple  boarded  ; 
she  had  lately  changed  her  residence  so  frequently,  to 
avoid  disgrace  and  exposure,  which  was  rapidly  following 
her  up,  despite  of  all  her  precautions. 

He  called  first  at  one  fashionable  hotel  then  another,  until 
almost  wearied  with  anxiety  and  suspense,  he  paused  at 
the  corner  of  one  of  the  streets  entering  Broadway,  to 
collect  his  thoughts  and  compose  his  agitation.  He  was 
standing  immediately  before  one  of  the  hotels  of  high  re 
pute,  looking  intently  on  the  crowd  passing  to  and  fro, 
when  he  felt  some  one  touch  his  arm,  and  turning  abruptly, 
he  saw  a  lad  who  seemed  hurried  and  agitated.  It  was 
Theodore  Harper,  but  Mr.  Temple  did  not  recognize  him. 
He  was  surprised  and  astonished  when  he  discovered  who 
he  was,  and  that  he  had  it  in  his  power  to  inform  him 
of  Mrs.  Temple's  present  abode,  and  other  very  startling 


126  MRS.  BEN  DAKBY. 

facts,  of  which  he  was  ignorant.  The  opposite  hotel,  it 
seemed,  was  in  some  excitement,  at  the  strange  circum 
stances  which  had  occurred.  It  appeared  from  Theodore's 
statement,  that  little  Elinor  had  been  decoyed  away  from 
home  by  some  unknown  means,  and  had  not  been  heard 
of  for  nearly  two  days.  Her  mother  and  friends  were  in 
great  distress  and  consternation,  and  were  using  every 
means  to  find  out  her  place  of  concealment,  but  all  to  no 
effect.  This  intelligence  was  horrible  and  embarrassing  to 
Mr.  Temple.  He  went  with  Theodore  to  the  house,  and 
made  a  diligent  and  earnest  investigation.  Mrs.  Temple 
was  not  at  home,  but  the  proprietor  of  the  establishment 
corroborated  the  account  he  had  just  heard,  but  could  give 
him  no  satisfaction  on  the  subject.  Mr.  Temple  was  in  one 
of  those  dilemmas,  which  seemed  to  have  no  outlet.  He 
asked  question  after  question,  made  one  suggestion  after 
another,  to  no  effect.  He  finally  determined  to  secure 
Darby,  and  force  him  to  produce  the  child,  as  he  could 
prove,  beyond  the  shadow  of  a  doubt,  that  he  had  stolen 
her  from  the  asylum  where  he  had  placed  her. 

He  began  even  to  waver  in  this  resolution  when  he 
ascertained,  by  further  inquiry,  that  Mr.  Darby  was  totally 
ignorant  of  Elinor's  place  of  concealment,  and  had  been, 
and  was  still  actively  engaged  in  using  means  to  find  out 
where  she  was,  and  those  who  had  beguiled  her  away. 

Mr.  Darby,  it  seems,  from  facts  gathered  from  the  gossip 
of  the  hotel,  had  cast  suspicion  on  Mrs.  Temple's  maid ; 
but  as  Hannah  Reeves  was  punctual  at  her  post  of  duties, 
and  had  never  been  missing,  nothing  could  be  proved 
against  her.  She  was,  it  is  true,  unusually  silent,  but  if 
possible,  more  nervous  and  restless  than  ever — sarcastic 


MBS.  BEN  DARBT.  127 

and  proverbial  in  the  extreme.  Her  manner,  when 
questioned,  was  such  as  to  silence  rather  than  encourage 
her  inquisitors. 

"And  is'  there  not  enough  vagabond  thieves  in  the  city, 
that  make  it  their  business  and  calling  to  steal  young-ones  ? 
Must  it  be  laid  on  an  honest  girl,  who  has  poor  brothers 
and  sisters  enough,  suffering  for  food  and  raiment,  without 
hunting  up  the  rich  and  the  proud  ?  Let  me  tell  you,  Mr. 
Darby,  it  takes  a  rogue  to  catch  a  rogue — no  doubt,  you 
will  find  her — you  had  better  look  to  yourself — heaven  takes 
care  of  its  own" 

"  But  the  child  was  seen  with  you  last,  Hannah,"  said 
Mrs.  Temple,  in  great  agitation. 

"Who  saw  her?"  asked  the  girl,  looking  with  dignified 
assurance  at  her  mistress — "  the  one  that  saw  her  last 
ought  to  know  where  she  is." 

"She  left  the  house  with  you,  Hannah,"  said  Mrs. 
Temple. 

"  Well,  ma'am,  who  says  she  left  it  with  me,  the  last 
time  ?  I  am  sure,  ma'am,  you  can't  say  so — -for  to  my  best 
knowledge,  you  have  no  right  even  to  suppose  it,  being  as 
you  could  not,  for  your  life,  tell  a  hawk  from  a  hand-saw, 
and  am  equally  certain,  that  I  never  left  the  print  of  my  hand 
on  her  throat — neither  did  I  kick  her  or  bruise  her — neither 

was  I "  the  last  word  reached  only  the  ear  for  which 

it  was  intended — "  so  have  me  up,  if  you  please,  ma'am, 
and  accuse  me  of  stealing  her — do  it  just  as  soon  as  you 
please — I  am  ready.  I  should  like  to  go  before  the  court — 
I  have  my  defense  ready — 'a  short  horse  is  soon  curried.' 
.1  should  like  to  go,  ma'am — I  think  I  see  myself  there 
now — I  could  soon  settle  the  hash.  Stealing  the  dear 


128  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

child !  as  if  I  did  not  have  trouble  enough  of  my  own  with 
out  craving  other  people's." 

Mrs.  Temple  and  Darby  were  both  actually  silenced 
by  her  vehement  and  boisterous  defense,  and  she  walked 
off  with  a  very  innocent  face  and  quite  an  independent 
air.  She  had  never  made  her  appearance  since. 

Mr.  Temple,  not  knowing  what  to  do,  proposed  to  Theo 
dore  to  return  to  Abingdon  Lyceum,  in  order  to  see  Fair 
mont,  hoping  to  find  out  some  clue  by  which  he  might 
secure  Darby  or  recover  the  child.  He  preferred  accom 
plishing  the  latter,  if  possible,  without  interfering  with  his  ad 
versary.  As  he  and  Mrs.  Temple  Avere  on  the  eve  of  being 
married,  he  did  not  wish  to  be,  in  any  way,  suspected  of 
molesting  them ;  in  fact,  he  did  not  desire  to  be  mixed  up 
in  the  affair  at  all.  Darby  was  a  person  with  whom  he  did 

not  feel  disposed,  under  any  circumstances,  to  confer  

all  he  desired  or  sought  was  the  recovery  of  his  darling 
Elinor,  and  he  was  almost  incapable  of  acting  from  nervous 
excitement  and  terrifying  suspense. 

Mrs.  Fairmont  was  still  sewing,  and  awaiting  anxiously 
the  return  of  her  friend,  hoping  to  hear  that  he  had  found 
Mrs.  Temple  and  secured  his  child. 

Scarcely  had  Mr.  Temple  finished  his  exciting  facts, 
when  a  loud  noise  was  heard  at  the  door,  as  if  it  had  been 
shaken  from  its  hinges — then  heavy  steps  and  thumps — 
down  went  a  broken  chair,  and  Fairmont,  with  his  clothes 
wet,  his  face  disfigured  and  red  as  an  autumn  sun,  came 
blundering  in.  He  held  a  bundle  in  one  hand,  and  his  old 
threadbare  bandanna  pocket-handkerchief  dangled  corner- 
wise  from  the  other. 

"  Dog  on  the  old,  infernal  shanty  !     Can't  you  keep  the 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  129 

old,  bow-legged  chairs  out  of  a  man's  way? — or  do  you 
keep  them  on  purpose  to  bark  a  body's  shins?  The  old, 
rickety  things  are  not  fit  for  a  gentleman's  house — so  here 
goes  !" 

Down  went  one  chair  upon  another  until  every  unoccu 
pied  one  was  piled  in  the  center  of  the  room. 

"  Come  here,  Kate,  by  golly !  you  shall  cut  a  swell  and 
outshine  the  best  of  them.  Huzza  for  Simon  Fairmont ! 
the  favorite  of  fortune — and,  madam,  your  most  humble 
servant  to  command  until  death  !" 

"  Husband,  come  sit  down  and  compose  yourself — here 
is  Harry  come  to  see  us." 

"Yes,  and  everybody  will  be  coming  to  see  us  now, 
Jane.  We  will  show  the  folks  how  the  generous  millionaire 
lives — if  we  don't  make  them  stare  my  name  's  Haines ! 
ha!  ha!"  He  laughed  with  such  hearty  good-will,  that 
his  hearers  could  scarce  refrain  from  joining  in  chorus. 
"  I  wish  I  may  be  screwed  up  into  a  cocked  hat,  if  I  don't 
make  the  aristocracy  tremble !  We  '11  tell  them  the  time 
of  day — and  no  mistake  !  hey,  George !  Roll  yourself  out 
and  kindle  a  fire  in  the  stove — stir  out  and  drum  up  a  sup 
per  here,  in  quick  time — a  jam-up,  regular  fancy  ball 
doings!  —  none  of  your  poverty-stricken,  wishy-washy, 
cabbage-leaf  soup,  but  genuine  crab,  scrambled  eggs,  sau 
sage  and  apple  dumplings ! — and  look  here,  George  Wash 
ington  Fairmont,  don't  forget  the  one  thing  needful,"  added 
he,  with  a  mystical  turning  up  of  his  fist  to  his  mouth. 

George  walked  off  solemnly,  as  if  to  perform  the  orders  to 
a  letter,  but  hid  himself  behind  the  arm-chair  of  his  mother. 
Mr.  Fairmont  swayed  up  and  down  the  room  in  a  storm 
of  excitement,  gathering  up  everything  that  presented  itselt 


130  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

to  his  attention  and  piled  them  up  in  the  room  where  he 
had  thrown  the  chairs.  Sometimes  he  would  wink  at  Mr. 
Temple — snap  his  finger  at  Kate — then  stop,  and  gaze  very 
lovingly  at  his  wife. 

It  was  very  unusual  for  him  to  be  so  very  pleasant,  and 
his  family  were  astonished  at  his  humors.  His  wife  begged 
him  to  sit  down  and  be  quiet,  for  Mr.  Temple  wished  to 
speak  to  him  on  some  very  urgent  business. 

He  made  her  no  answer,  but  walked  up  to  the  work- 
table,  and  taking  up  the  work-box  and  basket  pitched  them 
to  the  far  end  of  the  room,  and  snatching  the  costly  piece  of 
work  out  of  her  hands,  which  had  for  weeks  stolen  the 
health  from  her  cheeks,  wadded  it  up  in  a  knot  and  holding 
it  to  the  lamp,  set  it  on  fire  and  threw  it  blazing  into  the 
fire-place. 

"  Jane ! — Mrs.  Fairmont !"  cried  the  reckless  madman, 
gazing  wildly  on  the  composed  face  of  his  wife,  "  no  man 
but  myself,  shall  have  the  benefit  of  your — of  your  ser 
vices — but  myself,  henceforth  and  forevermore  ! — do  you 
hear  me — me,  madam  ? — no  man  shall  wear  shirts  of  your 
manufactory — Temple,  you  bear  witness  !" 

"  Fairmont,"  said  the  latter,  drawing  him  to  a  chair, 
"  for  shame — how  can  you  torment  Jane  so  mercilessly  ? — 
one  so  faithful,  and  so  loving,  and  so  just." 

"  What  am  I  doing  ?  Only  about  to  relieve  her  of  all 
her  troubles,  ezcept  myself." 

"  You  are  acting  like  a  madman." 

"  I  want  Jane  to  understand  me  ;  for  the  future  we  must 
take  a  more  elevated  stand.  No,  by  golly!  Temple,  we  will 
have  no  more  shifting  —  no  more  pinching  and  eking  to 
keep  soul  and  body  together ;  but  you,  madam,  shall  ride 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  131 

in  your  coach,  and  have  a  pew  in  Trinity  Church  !  instead 
of  walking  in  old  rubber  shoes  to  that  low,  nasty  chapel  on 
Mulberry  street." 

"  Fairmont,  for  mercy's  sake,  tell  me  what  you  are  mak 
ing  all  this  to  do  about  ?" 

"  Why,  Jenny,  my  love,  your  prayers  have  gone  up  the 
right  way  for  once  !" 

"  Oh  !  Mr.  Fairmont,  do  be  reasonable." 

"I  never  was  more  so  in  my  life.  Jane,  I  have  the 
greatest  news  to  tell ;  it  will  make  the  hair  on  your  head 
crack  like  a  wagon-whip.  Jane,  don't  you  think,  that  old 
sea-dog  of  an  uncle  of  yours,  old  Jeffy,  has  died  at  last, 
and  left  a  million  of  dollars !  More  than  half  of  it  is  yours  ; 
Jane,  do  you  hear  me  ?" 

"Oh  !  not  dear  uncle  Jeffy  ?"  cried  Mrs.  Fairmont,  clasp 
ing  her  hands." 

"  Yes,  indeed,  old  uncle  Jeffy  ;  the  most  precious  old 
relative  that  ever  died.  Halloo,  Jane !  don't  go  to — to  act 
the  fool,  crying  because  your  uncle  has  died,  and  left  you 
his  heiress — for  shame  !  you  ungrateful  baggage  !" 

"You  never  knew  him  and  loved  him  as  I  did,"  said 
she,  quivering  with  emotion. 

"  I  love  him  now,  Jane — I  honor  him.  I  tell  you  what ! 
I  am  going  to  reform — join  the  temperance  society,  and 
settle  down,  like  folks  ;  and  Jane  will  find  out  at  last  that 
she  has  a  jewel  of  a  husband.  We  will  send  Kate  to  Troy, 
and  George  to  West  Point,  to  learn  to  be  a  general ;  and 
we  will  walk  up  and  down  Broadway  every  bright  day. 
How  will  that  please  you  ?  Huzza  for  Simon  Fairmont ! 
They  may  all  go  to  the  devil  with  their  aristocracy. 
Shake  hands,  Temple ;  why,  man,  Mrs.  Fairmont  is  worth 


132  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

a  half  a   million,    and   you,    Temple,    are   appointed  his 
executor." 

"  Fairmont,  you  are  drunk  !"       *-'; 

"  Not  as  much  so  as  you  think.  Here,  Temple — here 
are  the  precious  documents.  Jane,  do  hush  up  ;  it  is  all 
gammon  to  be  weeping,  because  your  kind,  considerate  uncle 
died,  and  left  you  rich.  I  swear  !  I  could  not  squeeze  out 
a  tear  if  it  was  for  my  life.  Oh  !  Jenny,  you  are  an  angel 
in  woman's  clothing.  All  right,  Temple — you  are  a  kind 
of  judge — hey  ?" 

"Yes,  Jane,  Fairmont  is  telling  you  the  truth  ;  here  is  a 
letter  with  an  account  of  his  death  and  burial,  and  a  copy 
of  his  will ;  he  died  at  Boston." 

"  Yes,  it  is  all  a  fact,  Jane ;  the  dear  old  alligator  has 
not  remembered  me  in  his  last  will  and  testament ;  the  old 
son  of  a  tinker  has  not  left  me  one  darn  cent  that  I  can 
finger,  only  what  Jane  pleases  to  give  me  ;  but  Jane  is  a 
glorious  woman  !" 

"  Fairmont,"  said  Temple,  laying  his  hand  on  his  shoulder, 
"you  will  reform;  you  said  so  just  now.  Are  you  in  earnest?" 

"I  am,  by  golly,  after  this  week!" 

"  Say  this  moment,  and  make  your  wife  happy  as  well  as 
independent." 

"  No,  I  will  taper  off  with  one  grand  spree,  and  then — - 
and  then,  Mrs.  Fairmont,  I  will  be  yours  to  command." 

It  was  some  time  before  Mr.  Temple  could  bring  his 
business  to  a  close  with  Fairmont.  The  sudden  and  unex 
pected  good  fortune  had  nearly  turned  his  wits,  and  it  was 
almost  impossible  to  prevail  on  him  to  listen  to  the  inquiries 
of  Mr.  Temple.  At  last  he  let  out  the  whole  affair.  He 
gave  him  a  full  account  of  their  adventures,  and  was  very 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY,  133 

careful  to  lay  all  the  blame  on  Darby.  He,  it  appears,  had 
been  hired  to  assist  in  the  abduction.  Mr.  Temple  could 
not  think  of  prosecuting  him  on  account  of  his  family — not 
that  he  felt  in  any  degree  lenient  toward  him,  but  the  chil 
dren  would  suffer  disgrace  and  humiliation,  and  they  had 
already  so  many  evils  and  mortifications,  that  he  resolved 
to  spare  them.  His  thoughts  now  turned  to  Darby ;  he 
must  seek  and  push  him  to  extremities.  Fairmont  offered 
to  accompany  them. 

They  left  the  house,  and  Mrs.  Fairmont  and  her  chil 
dren  were  left  again  alone — yes,  alone,  but  not  friend 
less  or  poverty-stricken.  She  looked  for  a  moment  on  their 
bright  and  glowing  faces  ;  the  next  moment  their  arms 
were  linked  about  each  other's  necks,  and  silently  they 
sank  upon  their  knees,  in  prayer  and  thanksgiving  to  Him, 
who,  in  the  plenitude  of  his  mercy  had  inclosed  them 
around  as  with  a  hedge. 

"Oh !  mother,  you  will  never  know  the  bitterness  of  pov 
erty  again,"  said  Kate,  wiping  the  tears  from  her  cheek. 

"  Nor  shall  I  have  to  leave  you,  mother,  fading  and  dying 
with  penury  ;  and  dear  Kate  will  be  educated  like  a  lady." 

"And  perhaps,"  said  Kate,  in  a  low  whisper,  "  it  may 
reform  Pa." 

"  Never,  sister ;  never  !" 

"Hush,  my  son,  let  us  strive  to  be  humble  and  patient." 

"  Just  to  think,  mother,  how  happy  we  shall  be — never 
to  hunger  again." 

"  Never  to  shiver  with  cold,  or  blush  on  account  of  our 
rags." 

"  No  one  will  dare  pity  us  now,"  said  George,  looking 
the  picture  of  self-esteem,  "  they  will  not  point  at  us,  and 


134  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

say, '  They  are  nice  children;  it  is  a  pity  their  father  drinks,' 
or,  '  George,  your  beast  of  a  father  is  in  the  kennel ;  if  you 
don't  want  the  hogs  to  eat  him,  you'd  better  be  after  rous- 
tering  him.'  If  he  will  drink,  mother,  we  will  have  him 
do  it  at  home  ;  we  will  not  trouble  the  watch  to  bring 
him  in  of  a  night ;  we  will  give  him  a  good,  faithful  servant 
to  watch  over  him." 

"  And  Oh !  mother,  dearest,  only  to  think  you  will  not 
have  to  sew  to  buy  tea  and  potatoes,"  said  Kate,  resting 
her  flushed  cheek  on  the  calm  brow  of  her  mother. 

"  Nor  earn  money  for  father,  for  he  always  tries  to  get 
all  our  poor  earnings ;  but  would  it  not  be  such  unheard-of 
happiness,  if  fortune  could  only  buy  respectability  as  well 
as  food  and  raiment?  Sister!  mother!  how  willingly  would 
we  give  the  last  red  copper  to  reform  him — how  willingly 
would  I  tread  the  dark,  low  vale  of  poverty  and  obscurity, 
if  I  could  take  my  father  by  the  hand,  and  say,  my  father, 
the  kind  husband  of  my  mother.  As  it  is,  among  the  splen 
dor  and  affluence  to  which  fortune  may  bring  us,  the 
thought  that  he  is  what  he  is — a  drunkard — will  rankle  in 
my  heart  like  a  thorn." 

"  My  son !  no  more  of  this,  it  is  wrong  ;  we  must  endea 
vor  to  be  thankful  and  happy." 

The  mother  silently  leaned  upon  the  shoulder  of  the  agi 
tated  boy,  and  Kate  kneeled  before  them. 

Ah !  how  the  cruel  conduct  of  that  reckless  devotee  of 
intemperance  had  drawn  those  hearts  together.  The  mo 
ther,  like  a  tutelar  angel,  had  warded  off  the  influence  of 
his  evil  course,  and  by  her  example  of  resignation  and  her 
precepts  of  virtue  and  forbearance,  had  led  them  on,  thus 
far,  unscathed. 


MRS.  BKN  DABBY.  135 

There  are  many  such  martyrs  in  this  world,  wearing  out 
by  piecemeal  on  the  thorny  rugged  path  that  intemperance 
marks  out  for  its  victims.  The  husband  drinks  on,  and  for 
gets  his  duties  and  his  sorrows  ;  but  she,  who  lingers  on 
with  him  in  defiance  of  all,  toils  and  suffers  until  her  brain 
is  racked,  and  her  heart  weary  and  faint.  But  there  is  One 
who  marks  every  sigh — who  sees  every  tear  that  falls,  and 
in  the  day  He  comes  to  make  up  his  jewels,  she  will  be 
found  by  the  angel  of  the  covenant,  and  placed  in  the 
crown  of  the  king  of  glory. 

When  Mr.  Temple  left  the  house  in  Abingdon-square, 
he  dispatched  Fairmont,  with  two  police  officers,  in  search 
of  Darby. 

They  returned  with  information  that  no  intelligence  had 
been  received  of  the  child,  and  that  Mrs.  Temple  had  left 
her  boarding-house  that  morning,  and  had  departed  with 
her  baggage  as  for  a  long  journey,  having  been  but  a  few 
moments  united  in  the  holy  bands  of  matrimony  to  her 
cousin.  They  were,  therefore,  together. 

Suspicion  had  at  first  fallen  upon  Hannah  Reeves,  but  as 
she  so  stoutly  denied  all  participation  in  the  affair,  and 
seemed  ready  to  baffle  the  assertions,  by  making  some  very 
embarrassing  statements  in  regard  to  the  treatment  which 
the  little  girl  had  received  from  her  mother,  it  made  iton  the 
part  of  the  lady,  very  hazardous,  and  crippled  the  efforts 
made  to  discover  the  child. 

Mr.  Temple,  as  a  last,  and  almost  hopeless  effort,  deter 
mined  to  see  the  girl,  and  have  a  full  investigation  of  the 
matter  as  far  as  she  was  concerned. 

With  a  view  to  this  he  made  inquiries  as  to  the  character 
and  general  conduct  of  the  girl.  She  bore  a  good  name  in 


136  MRS.  BEN  DARBST. 

the  hotel  where  she  had  been  employed.  All  who  knew 
her  gave  her  a  character  free  from  taint  of  any  kind.  Her 
father  was  very  intemperate — the  family  miserably  poor 
and  wretched,  both  in  a  moral  and  physical  position.  Han 
nah,  and  her  eldest  brother,  who  was  her  junior,  kept  the 
family  from  utter  starvation  by  their  industry  and  steady 
adherence  to  honesty  and  propriety.  The  father  had  be 
come  so  worthless  that  he  could  scarcely  earn  means 
enough  to  supply  the  mother  and  himself  with  rum. 


MRS.  BEN  DARBT.  137 


How  use  doth  breed  a  habit  in  a  man. — SHAKSPEARE. 

IN  an  alley  opening  into  Leonard  street,  stood  a  low, 
dark,  crazy  tenement.  The  windows  were  not  only  desti 
tute  of  glass,  but  the  sashes  were  broken  and  disjointed, 
the  doors  were  dislodged  from  their  hinges,  and  propped  up 
with  half-burned  planks.  The  sills  had  all  rotted  away, 
and  stones  and  oyster-shells  filled  up  the  chasm  between 
the  floor  and  the  entrance.  The  roof  was  shattered,  and 
trembled  on  its  decayed  rafters,  worm-eaten,  and  "  mossed 
with  age,"  and  crusted  with  the  soot  and  smoke  of  years. 
All  around  the  miserable  doorway  was  filth,  and  all  within 
was  penury  and  want — the  most  revolting  degradation. 
The  scaled  and  battered  walls,  smeared  and  begrimed 
floors,  the  tottering  partition,  the  caved  hearth,  filled  with 
all  kinds  of  offal,  told  a  tale  of  human  suffering,  human 
frailty,  and  brutal  association. 

A  faint  light  issued  from  the  half-closed  door.  This 
was  the  abode  of  John  Reeves,  the  father  of  Hannah.  The 
family  occupied  the  lower  room,  an  old  rickety  bedstead, 
the  long  posts  of  which  nearly  crossed  each  other,  at  the 
top,  occupied  one  corner  of  the  room,  with  coverings  which 
no  human  ingenuity  could  describe,  from  casual  observa 
tion.  Part  of  a  quilt  of  the  ancient,  but  well  remembered 
combination,  styled  'nine  patch,'  hung  down  at  the  foot,  to 
conceal  the  squalid  nest  beneath,  composed  of  rags,  shav- 


138  MRS.  BEN  DARBT. 

ings,  and  old  newspapers,  worked  into  the  consistency  of 
half-dried  paste.  A  broken  stove,  yellow  with  rust,  its 
doors  all  gone  or  burned  out,  stood  nearly  in  the  middle 
of  the  floor,  and  was  covered  with  ashes  and  grease.  A 
few  chairs,  all  crippled,  or  uneasily  resting  on  dislocated 
members ;  a  wheelbarrow  without  a  back,  and  only  one 
leg,  was  propped  up  in  one  corner,  to  serve  as  a  cradle. 
It  was  the  only  utensil  of  industry  which  remained  as  a 
relic  of  other  days.  An  old  greasy  table,  completed  the 
inventory  of  household  movables. 

A  woman  about  forty  years  of  age,  with  purple  lips  and 
maudlin  eyes,  loathsome  and  disagreeable  in  the  extreme, 
sat  rocking  a  wailing  diseased  infant  to  and  fro,  with  a 
violence  and  petulance,  ill  adapted  to  its  strength  and 
frame,  and  which  seemed  to  have  no  soothing  in  its  ad 
ministration,  if  one  might  judge  from  its  aggravated  cries. 
Several  ragged  boys  and  girls  were  squatted  about  the  bed, 
amazed  and  bewildered  by  the  figures  which  filled  up  the 
doorway. 

"  Does  John  Reeves  live  here  ?"  asked  Mr.  Temple,  ad 
dressing  the  woman,  who  appeared  unconscious  of  his 
presence. 

"  He  takes  his  grub  here,  when  he  can  git  it,"  replied 
the  woman  gruffly,  "  but  it  ain't  often  he  gits  any." 

"  Where  is  he  ?"  asked  Mr.  Temple. 

"  You  don't  expect  me  to  answer  that  question — you 
can't  be  so  onreasonable — that  is,  if  so  be  you  know  him 
and  his  ways — I  never  knows  where  he  is,  unless  he  is 
drunk  and  at  home — I  never  goes  to  look  after  him — it 
ain't  to  be  expected." 

"  He  drinks  hard,  hey?"  asked  Fairmont. 


MBS.  BEN  DARBY.  139 

"An'  he  does  that  very  thing." 

"  That  is  a  bad  business — it  is  well  you  keep  sober,  Mrs. 
Reeves,  in  order  to  take  care  of  the  children." 

"  Keep  sober  !"  cried  she,  tossing  her  baby  up  in  her 
arms,  and  shaking  it  nearly  breathless  to  keep  it  from 
screaming  to  the  'top  of  its  bent,'  "and  who  says  to  the 
contrary  ?  I  should  like  for  them  to  tell  me  so  to  my  face — 
I  am  a  decent  woman,  sir,  and  should  like  to  know  what 
the  men  folks  are  after  here — I  am  sure  we  troubles  no 
one." 

"  You  have  a  daughter  who  lives  out — is  she  at  home, 
or  has  she  found  a  new  situation  ?" 

"  No,  she  just  went  out  to  hunt  up  something  to  eat ; 
for  it  is  very  little  that  John  Reeves  brings  into  this  house 
but  rum  and  black  looks." 

"  So  the  girl  is  kind  and  good  ?"  asked  Temple. 

"The  best  sort — if  it  was  not  for  her  and  Charley,  I 
don't  know  where  I  should  have  been  by  this  time." 

"  May  be  in  heaven,"  said  Fairmont,  "  who  knows  ?" 

"And  why  not  ?  I  am  sure  I  have  as  good  a  right  as 
any  one,"  replied  Mrs.  Reeves,  loudly. 

"  I  beg  pardon — I  am  sure  I  have  no  objection,  provided 
you  leave  your  ill-manners  behind." 

"  Fairmont,  be  quiet,"  said  Temple,  "  and  don't  pro 
voke  her.  Mrs.  Reeves,"  continued  he,  addressing  the 
irritated  woman,  "  I  have  some  business  with  your  daugh 
ter,  and " 

"I  am  here,"  cried  Hannah,  hastily  entering,  and  placing 
a  loaf  of  bread  and  a  pitcher  of  milk  on  the  table,  "  to 
answer  for  myself — what  is  the  fracas  now  ?" 


140  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

"  I  have  come  to  see,  if  you  know  anything  about  the 
removal  of  Elinor  Temple  ?" 

"  And  you  come  again,  to  taunt  me  about  the  child — 
stealing  a  child!"  cried  she,  fiercely  tearing  the  children  one 
by  one  from  the  food,  which  she  had  placed  on  the  table, 
which  they  gathered  about  like  so  many  starved  rats.  "  I 
said  again  and  again,  that  I  have  not  stolen  her — may -be 
you  would  like  to  search — well  do  it,  and  welcome.  Don't 
you  see  I  have  enough  trouble,  without  loading  me  down  ? 
and  even  if  I  did  know  where  she  is,  what  of  it  ?  I  would 
die  before  I  would  tell.  And  as  for  you,  Mr.  Fairmont, 
you  will  not  get  her  again,  I  can  tell  you — you  stole  her 
once  from  her  dear  blessed  home,  and  brought  her  to  be 
buffeted  and  kicked  about  by  an  inhuman  mother.  Why, 
Theodore,  what  are  you  after  ?  bless  me  !  I  did  not  know 
you — here,  take  this  chair — I  am  so  glad  to  see  you." 

"  Never  mind  sitting  down,  Hannah,  I  have  not  time — 
this  is  Elinor's  father,  Hannah — he  has  come  here,  in  hopes 
of  hearing  some  news  of  poor  little  Miss  Temple — he  is 
nearly  dead  with  anxiety  and  suspense." 

"  Her  father — her  own  father  ?" 

"  Yes,  you  may  be  sure." 

"  You  are  sure  ?" 

"  Elinor  would  tell  you  it  is  he — where  is  she  Hannah, 
do  you  know  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  I  know  well  enough — and  if  this  is  her  father, 
circumstances  alter  cases — I  did  not  steal  your  child,  sir — 
I  never  dreamed  of  it — but  I  put  her  in  a  safe  place,  be 
cause  they  tried  to  bribe  me  to  decoy  her  off,  so  that  Mr. 
Fairmont  there,  could  not  take  her  from  her  mother,  as  he 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  141 

had  threatened  to  do.  I  am  so  glad,  sir,  that  you  have 
come  at  last  to  see  her,  and  take  her  away.  Send  those 
men  away,  and  I  will  go  with  you  to  her  lodgings." 

Fairmont  and  the  officers  left  the  house  and  awaited 
their  return  at  the  corner  of  the  street.  Hannah  lighted  a 
small  lamp  and  requested  Mr.  Temple  and  Theodore  to 
follow  her.  She  passed  through  the  back  door  and  crossed  a 
narrow,  dirty  yard,  whose  noxious  effluvia  was  not  only 
sickening  to  the  senses,  but  appalling  to  the  mind.  Mr. 
Temple  shuddered  when  he  thought  of  his  child  being 
daily  exposed  to  such  an  atmosphere,  and  trembling  with 
fatigue  and  anxiety,  he  followed  the  girl  up  a  narrow,  tot 
tering  stairway,  which  was  propped  by  slender  pieces  of 
rotten  scantling. 

Hannah  passed  up  first  and  held  the  light  below,  as  the 
rest  mounted  alternately.  As  Hannah  entered  the  room, 
she  was  greeted  by  a  voice  whose  every  tone  fell  like  life 
and  balm  upon  the  feelings  of  the  anxious  father.  The 
next  moment  his  child  was  folded  in  his  arms,  and  for  a 
time,  all  his  sorrow?  were  forgotten. 

Mr.  Temple  found  himself  in  a  small  room,  but  as  neat 
as  wax — a  nice  bed  with  a  white  covering  and  fringed 
curtains — a  polished  table  in  the  center  of  the  room, 
with  a  bright  lamp  —  a  few  books  of  genteel  appear 
ance,  and  a  sweet  fresh,  bouquet  in  a  large  tumbler,  were 
the  first  objects  which  he  noticed,  after  he  had  embraced 
his  child.  The  change  from  filth  and  pollution  to  purity 
was  so  sudden  and  unlooked-for,  that  the  contrast  was 
irresistible. 

"How  nice  Mrs.  Martin  keeps  everything!"  said  Han 
nah  to  Theodore;  "  'cleanliness  is  the  handmaid  of  virtue/ 


142  MRS.  BEN  DARBT. 

Then  turning  to  Elinor,  she  said :  "  Where  is  Aunty  Martin, 
dear?" 

"  She  is  gone  to  Canal-street  to  buy  some  buttons  for  a 
vest." 

Things  became  gradually  quiet,  and  Hannah  informed 
Mr.  Temple  of  the  proceedings  of  Mrs.  Temple,  since  the 
arrival  of  Elinor,  and  the  conduct  of  Darby  during  the  last 
days  that  she  spent  in  the  hotel.  Mr.  Darby  had,  it 
appeared  from  Hannah's  statement,  tried  to  bribe  her  to 
decoy  the  child  away  and  meet  him  with  her  on  the  Bat 
tery,  where  he  would  come  prepared  to  take  charge  of  her. 
The  reason  he  gave  was  this — Fairmont  had  threatened  to 
take  her  back  to  her  father,  in  order  to  force  Darby  to  pay 
him  for  his  assistance  in  bringing  her  to  the  city.  He  was 
determined  to  make  them  fulfill  their  contract,  which 
Darby  was  equally  disposed  to  overlook.  Hannah  had 
been  offered  a  very  tempting  reward  to  do  as  she  had  been 
requested,  but  her  principles  were  too  sterling  to  bend  to 
the  designs  of  others,  and  although  nothing  but  a  poor, 
insignificant  servant,  she  had  a  noble  heart.  She  had 
penetration,  too,  enough  to  discover  that  something  was  in 
agitation,  she  could  not  tell  exactly  what,  but  fearing  it 
might  result  in  evil  to  Elinor,  she  resolved  to  put  her  out 
of  their  reach.  As  her  resources  were  limited  and  her 
acquaintances  restricted  to  a  certain  class,  she  was  com 
pelled  to  do  the  best  she  could  under  the  circumstances. 
Darby  was  very  desirous  that  the  child  should  be  brought 
away  without  Mrs.  Temple's  knowledge.  Hannah  deter 
mined  that  she  would  outwit  them  all.  She  listened  with 
patience  to  Mr.  Darby's  arrangements,  but  did  not  acqui 
esce.  She  asked  a  good  many  questions,  but  before  there 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  143 

was  an  understanding  between  them,  Mrs.  Temple  rang 
her  bell  and  Hannah  readily  obeyed  the  summons,  glad  of 
an  excuse  to  leave  matters  uncompromised.  That  after 
noon  she  took  Elinor  to  Mrs.  Martin's. 

"Who  is  Mrs.  Martin?"  asked  Mr.  Temple. 

"  Oh,  sir !  don't  you  remember  the  lady  that  nursed  Miss 
Elinor,  when  she  was  a  baby?" 

"  Yes,  she  was  a  very  young  widow." 

"And  is  again  one,"  said  Hannah ;  "  both  her  husbands 
killed  themselves  with  rum.  She  has  been  in  the  habit  of 
sewing  for  Mrs.  Temple — that  is  the  way  we  became 
acquainted.  She  has  lived  here  a  good  while,  in  perfect 
retirement.  She  is  a  very  excellent  person,  and  I  knew 
you  would  be  willing  to  pay  Miss  Elinor's  board,  as  Mrs. 
Martin  is  quite  poor  and  depends  on  her  labor  for  her 
support." 

Mrs.  Martin  returned,  and  matters  were  soon  arranged 
for  the  removal  of  Elinor,  who  had  listened  as  if  in  a  trance 
to  all  that  had  been  said  and  done — one  hand  in  her 
father's,  the  other  clasped  by  Theodore.  She  was  the  liv 
ing  picture  of  trust  and  fond  reliance. 

Mrs.  Martin  received  ample  remuneration  for  the  trou 
ble  and  care  she  had  bestowed  on  her  young  boarder. 
Hannah  tied  on  her  little  blue  bonnet  and  mantle ;  Mrs. 
Martin  smoothed  the  wrinkles  from  her  black  silk  apron 
and  kissed  "her  dear,  little  face,"  as  she  called  it. 

Her  friends  both  promised  to  visit  her  in  a  few  days, 
and  she  soon  found  herself  in  an  omnibus  on  her  way  to 
her  father's  residence. 

"Where  is  Theodore,  papa?"  asked  Elinor,  as  she  found 
herself  on  the  pavement — "  Theodore !  Theodore !" 


144  MKS.  BEN  DAKBY. 

"  I  certainly  thought  lie  was  with  us — I  meant  he  should 
return  home  with  us.  Well,  well,  we  will  see  him  in  the 
morning — he  is  a  noble  little  fellow  and  must  be  taken 

o 

care  of — he  will  make  a  man  some  of  these  days." 

"  Yes,  papa,  he  is  so  good  !" 

"  Well,  love,  we  will  have  him  home  with  us,  in  the 
morning,"  and  Mr.  Temple  led  his  little  daughter  up  the 
marble  steps  of  his  stately  mansion. 

Elinor  was  soon  asleep  in  her  father's  house ;  the  assur 
ance  of  having  Theodore  always  with  her  at  her  own 
home,  made  her  almost  forget  the  huge  shadow  that  lay 
across  the  threshold — a  drunken  mother !  Pause,  thou 
votary  of  the  bottle !  the  cup  in  thy  hand  holds  the  tears 
of  the  innocent  and  the  curses  of  thy  own  conscience ! 
Dash  it  down  !  trample  it  beneath  thy  feet !  Earth  has  no 
greater  evil,  nor  life  a  more  damning  malediction ! 


MRS.  BEN  DABBY.  145 


Copter  13. 


Weep  not  for  those  whom  the  Tail  of  the  tomb, 
In  life's  happy  morning  hath  hid  from  our  eyes, 

Kre  sin  threw  a  blight  o'er  the  spirit's  young  bloom, 

Or  earth  hath  profaned  what  was  born  for  the  skies. — MOOSE. 

THE  civilized  world  assents  to  the  fact  that  intemperance 
is  a  curse  upon  society — that  the  habitual  drunkard  is  a 
clog  upon  social  life.  Like  the  upas,  he  stands  alone,  and 
all  who  venture  within  his  atmosphere  are  blighted — 
withered,  and  accursed.  The  dark  and  unholy  path  of  the 
destroyer  is  studded  with  monuments  of  human  ruin,  whose 
pinnacles  are  too  high,  and  epitaphs  too  emblazoned,  to 
evade  even  the  eye  of  the  sensualist,  recording  the  terrify 
ing  history  of  those  who  moulder  beneath  ;  over  whose  sad 
graves,  fathers,  mothers,  brothers  and  children  ever  pour 
the  sweet  and  bitter  memories  of  undying  affection  upon 
the  crumbling  ruins  of  beloved  hearts,  which  they  had 
made  their  household  altars,  and  upon  them  had  offered  %up 
the  myrrh  and  frankincense  of  a  holy  sacrifice.  And  on 
these  gloomy  mounds  of  human  devastation  and  self-destruc 
tion  does  Genius  crape  her  brow,  for  a  bright,  aspiring  son, 
struck  down  in  his  proud  career — as  the  heaven-winged 
eaglet,  when  he  sweeps  too  near  the  earth,  falls  by  the 
fiery  missile  of  the  fowler. 

In  every  part  of  the  globe  exists  this  melancholy  expe 
rience  ;  and  on  every  spot  of  earth  is  this  record  spread 

wide  open  for  the  perusal  and  admonition  of  all.     Surely, 
13 


146  MBS.  BEN  DABBY. 

then,  no  new  appeal  or  argument  can  be  expected  from  any 
quarter  in  behalf  of  the  temperance  cause  ;  its  advocates 
are  everywhere — their  efforts  and  struggles  have,  in  a  mea 
sure,  improved  the  moral  condition  of  every  vineyard.  Its 
champions  in  every  battle-field  have  waged  war  with  all 
the  weapons  that  the  powers  of  human  reason  could 
•wield.  The  soul  of  man  is  endowed  with  attributes  of  am 
ple  dignity  for  the  control  and  adornment  of  his  physical 
conformation.  His  Maker  has  ordained  that  his  mind,  in 
its  essence,  is  an  exhalation  of  His  own  imperishable,  all- 
pervading  intelligence.  It  follows  reason,  then,  that  all 
the  higher  qualities  of  every  man,  though  he  may  be 
pinched  by  penury,  or  clad  in  tatters,  are  a  part  of  God 
himself. 

In  the  economy  of  nature  He  has  also  offered  fit  food 
for  this  deathless  principle.  It  is  the  proud  privilege  of  his 
immortality  to  study  the  wants,  the  rights,  the  spirits  and 
passions  of  men  ;  to  facilitate  their  enjoyments — the  exer 
cise  and  restraint  of  each.  Over  these  wants,  these  impa 
tient  and  cherished  rights — over  the  swelling  spirits — over 
these  burning,  bounding  passions  of  men,  this  mind  may 
erect  an  empire  invisible,  save  only  in  its  effects,  which 
shall  restrain  to  obedience  the  erring,  the  unwarranted 
assumptions  and  oppressions  of  the  mightiest  of  fellow- 
beings.  To  this  influence  of  mind  over  mind — of  feeling 
over  feeling,  is  assigned  the  task  of  relieving  poignant  suffer 
ings  ;  of  elevating  the  degraded  to  the  level  of  self-respect 
and  respectable  association— of  creating  in  communities  a 
moral  tone,  which  shall  reflect  from  the  mirror  of  society  the 
image  of  the  Gospel;  of  informing  and  moulding  the  rising  ge 
neration  into  a  mighty,  virtuous  posterity.  This  power  and 


MRS.  BEN  DARBT.  147 

influence  is  the  effect  of  various  means  :  from  example, 
present  sympathy — from  contact,  through  the  senses,  and 
often  by  familiarity,  with  the  evil  or  the  pure.  One-half  of 
our  susceptibilities  are  blunted  by  the  very  force  of  the  con 
stant  recurrence  of  revolting  scenes.  I  could  here  branch 
off  into  speculations  upon  reformation  to  support  or  refute 
the  opinion,  "  that  no  human  being  can  be  thoroughly 
reformed  except  through  the  channel  of  an  enlightened  con 
science  ;  that  the  revolting  spectacle  and  consequences  of 
intoxication  are  results  of  the  same  principle,  which  produce 
all  other  moral  extravagances,  and  should  be  corrected,  as 
are  all  other  excesses  to  which  they  are  allied  ;  that  he 
who  staggers  beneath  the  torpidity  of  alcohol  is  not  the  only 
drunkard  ;  that  it  is  the  operation  of  this  same  appetite 
for  excitement  that  induces  the  young  lady  to  sacrifice  her 
family-comfort  and  domestic  duties  to  the  piano,  or  the  deep 
and  seducing  intensities  of  light  literature  ;  and  which  too 
often  brings  upon  her  youth,  beauty  and  prime,  the  dark 
shadow  of  death  even  amid  the  festivities  of  mirth.  Upon 
this  principle  the  coquette  murders  hearts — the  libertine 
ruins  the  virtuous — the  innocent ;  the  frivolous  and  fashion 
able  mother  lets  her  infant  sicken  and  die — a  victim  to  the 
mummeries  of  dress  and  show  ;  the  young  glutton  lays  up 
a  life  of  gout  or  dyspepsia,  or  dies  of  apoplexy. 

These  are  points  ripe  for  discussion,  but  come  not  within 
the  compass  of  my  design,  as  I  am  not  making  a  temperance 
speech,  but  relating  facts  connected  with  the  subject,  and 
the  opinions  and  views  of  others. 

Mr.  Temple  awoke  next  morning  refreshed  in  body  and 
mind.  His  thoughts  turned  from  the  recovery  of  his  daugh 
ter  to  those  connected  with  it.  The  horrid  situation  of  the 


148  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

Reeves  family  pressed  with  force  upon  his  mind,  and  he 
arose  with  a  determination  to  endeavor  to  work  a  reforma 
tion  in  the  moral  condition  of  the  household — to  secure 
Hannah  as  a  trusty  attendant  and  friend  for  his  daughter, 
and  to  place  Theodore  Harper  in  a  respectable  and  lucra 
tive  position. 

How  to  ensure  a  lasting  reform  was  the  first  ques 
tion  that  presented  itself:  by  elevating  them  to  their  for 
mer  position  in  society — and  by  removing  the  obstacles  and 
difficulties  under  which  they  labored,  place  them  in  circum 
stances  conducive  to  a  perfect  restoration  of  health,  respecta 
bility  and  self-esteem.  Without  encouragement  and  assist 
ance,  the  jeopardized  powers  of  moral  rectitude  are  hard  to 
re-establish.  We  are  dependent  creatures  at  best ;  we  need 
the  smile  of  approval — the  stimulus  of  the  friendly  grip — 
the  proximity  of  mind  to  mind,  to  keep  us  in  the  onward 
path  of  virtue  and  forbearance.  Who  could  expect  a  fel 
low-being  to  retrace  the  way  of  duty  and  integrity  of  pur 
pose,  when  he  sees  on  every  hand  his  former  friends  and 
neighbors  shunning  him,  as  if  followed  by  the  plague-spot; 
wrapping  themselves  in  the  mantle  of  infallible  rectitude, 
and  looking  down  upon  the  penitent,  as  if  he  was  one  whom 
the  rules  of  society  placed  in  another  orbit  ? 

Under  such  a  state  of  affairs,  how  can  the  drunkard  be 
expected  to  reform  ?  What  would  he  accomplish  by  a 
regenerated  nature  ?  He  could  not  regain  the  confidence  of 
his  fellow-man.  If  it  were  not  for  the  prize  at  the  end  of 
the  race,  the  hope  that  reaches  beyond  this  life,  and 
brightens  up  this  vale  of  sorrow  and  death,  the  wanderer 
from  virtue  would  have  but  feeble  encouragement  to  for 
sake  the  error  of  his  ways. 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  149 

Mr.  Temple  was  a  Son  of  Temperance  ;  he  did  not  waste 
his  time  in  idle  discussions,  but  went  to  work  with  the  spirit 
and  the  understanding. 

The  Temperance  society  offers  a  beautiful  example  to  the 
world.  It  not  only  preaches  the  doctrine  of  reformation, 
but  meets  its  converts  half  way.  The  hand  of  fellowship 
is  offered ;  they  are  supported  and  elevated  by  the  social 
virtues  of  the  order  —  sustained  and  embraced  by  the 
cheering  thought  of  E  plurilus  unum.  It  brings  into  prac 
tice  those  divine  attributes  which  draw  man  to  the  likeness 
of  his  Maker  ;  wisdom,  firmness,  unflinching  perseverance, 
kindness,  order,  method,  and  skill  The  internal  power  of 
the  subject  appeals  to  the  conscience  and  experience  of  man. 
It  is  not  the  creature  of  force  or  love,  but  the  great  and 
irresistible  operation  of  moral  suasion,  opening  an  avenue  of 
intercourse  and  encouragement ;  assisting  those  who  may 
need  it,  to  a  reasonable  degree,  in  the  efforts  to  acquire  a 
competency.  It  does  not  hold  out  a  premium  to  vice  or  a 
reward  for  virtue  to  its  votaries  ;  but  declares,  by  its  plain 
and  honest  dealing  with  the  children  of  men,  that  it  is  the 
duty  of  every  individual  to  be  virtuous,  and  that  no  man 
should  feel  that  he  has  a  right  to  be  paid  to  become  respect 
able  beyond  the  reward  which  merit  always  expects  from 
the  hands  of  society.  What  a  fine  platform  on  which  he 
can  re-establish  his  impaired  character — regain  his  lost 
Eden.  He  here  finds  every  inducement  to  reform ;  by  de 
grees,  he  recovers  his  former  position  in  society,  and  the 
confidence  and  respect  of  his  friends.  May  I  not  here  re 
mark,  how  very  partial  the  conventionalities  of  society  are 
to  the  interest  and  well-being  of  man?  If  a  woman  de 
parts  from  the  straight  path  of  rectitude  and  prudence, 


160  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

every  eye  marks  the  deviation,  and  every  tongue  condemns; 
no  excuse  or  extenuation.  If  she  falls,  she  falls  forever. 
No  one  lifts  up  her  bowed  head — no  hand  wipes  away  the 
penitential  tear,  or  reaches  out,  in  the  dark,  to  guide  her 
weak  and  erring  steps.  No  one  pities  her,  or  seconds  her 
efforts  to  reform;  and  even  if  she  does  reform,  she  is  shunned 
and  despised.  No  eye  compassionates  her,  but  the  eye  of 
Him  who  died  upon  the  cross.  There  is  for  her  no  "  Tem 
ple  of  Honor,"  wherein  she  can  redeem  her  standing.  She 
feels  not  the  power  of  human  sympathy,  which  falls  upon 
the  heart  like  the  evening  and  the  morning  dew,  fertilizing 
the  feeble  efforts  of  nature  to  put  forth  blossoms  of  hope 
and  grace.  Jesus  alone  is  her  friend ;  he  binds  up  her 
broken  heart ;  chases  the  tears  from  her  withered  cheek, 
and  whispers  in  the  still,  small  voice,  "  Daughter,  be  of 
good  cheer  ;  thy  sins  are  forgiven  thee  ;  go  in  peace." 

"  Thou  who  hast  slept  in  error's  sleep, 

Oh!  would'st  thou  wake  in  Heaven? 
Like  Mary  kneel— like  Mary  weep, 
Love  much,  and  be  forgiven." 

Mr.  Temple  was  a  Son  of  Temperance ;  and  I  will  try  to 
show  you  how  he  found  his  way  to  the  heart  of  an  habitual 
drunkard. 

The  shadows  of  evening  were  gathering  over  the  city, 
when  he  bent  his  steps  toward  Leonard  street.  He  found 
no  one  within  the  wretched  domicil  but  the  captious  Mrs. 
Reeves,  who  had  been  indulging  in  liquor  pretty  freely. 
She  entertained  her  visitor  with  murmurs  and  complaints. 
He  gleaned,  from  her  hasty  and  broken  narrative,  a  few 
facts  which  gave  him  a  better  idea  of  their  present  situa- 


MRS.  BEN  DARBT.  151 

tion.  He  discovered  that  they  had  seen  better  days — that 
loss  of  wealth  came  first — then  sickness— ^diminution  of 
friends — lastly,  penury  and  degradation. 

To  remove  the  latter,  was  the  first  consideration,  and 
while  Mr.  Temple  was  making  up  his  mind  on  the 
point,  he  was  interrupted  by  a  very  boisterous  movement 
at  the  door.  In  a  moment,  a  crowd  of  boys  and  ruf 
fians  pressed  against  the  house  ;  loud  cries  were  heard  for 
the  crowd  to  give  way.  Cursing,  swearing,  pushing  and 
tearing,  they  bore  everything  before  them.  At  last,  an 
officer  succeeded  in  making  a  way  for  two  laboring  men, 
bearing  on  a  broad  plank,  the  body  of  a  lad,  covered  with 
blood  and  dirt.  No  one  offered  assistance.  Mr.  Temple 
looked  inquiringly  at  Mrs.  Reeves,  but  she  seemed  stu 
pefied. 

"  Is  John  Reeves's  wife  here  ?"  asked  one  of  the  men,  as 
he  rested  their  burden  on  two  broken  chairs. 

"Yes !"  screamed  the  woman,  "  what  have  you  there  ? — 
what  do  you  come  here  for?  In  heaven's  name,  what 
does  it  mean  ?" 

"  Mother  !  mother  !"  cried  Hannah  springing  forward 
through  the  doorway,  "it  is  Charley — our  own  dear  Char 
ley,  mother — it  is  Charley  !  Charley  !  and  he  is — mother — 
he  is  dead  !" 

"  Dead !"  screamed  the  frantic  woman,  "  Oh  !  no,  he  is 
not  dead — it  can't  be  ;  what,  Charley  !  my  own  darling, 
beautiful  boy,"  and  she  laid  her  screaming  infant  on  the 
bed,  and  staggered  toward  the  body,  which  was  resting  on 
two  chairs  in  horrible  ghastliness. 

"  He  is  dead,  mother — he  was  killed  by " 


152  MRS.  BEX  DARBY. 

"  By  what  ?  Oh  !  my  God  '.—say,  by  what  ?" 

"  A  stone — and  it  was  to  save  his  drunken  father — yes, 
mother — do  you  hear? — a  drunken  father!" 

"  Killed  !"  repeated  the  mother,  and  fell  senseless  by  the 
side  of  her  son. 

Screams  of  horror  and  anguish  filled  the  miserable 
apartment. 

The  body  of  the  youth  was  laid  out,  and  some  of  the 
neighbors  brought  a  clean  sheet  to  lay  him  on  ;  another 
combed  out  his  sun-burnt  hair,  and  washed  off  the  clots  of 
blood  from  his  neck  and  face.  Another  brought  a  pillow, 
with  a  clean  case.  So  his  young  limbs  were  straightened 
out,  and  his  stiff,  cold  features,  in  death's  repose,  lay  in 
decent,  but  poverty-stricken  order. 

But  what  had  the  son  of  an  habitual  drunkard  to  expect  ? 
Nothing  in  this  life,  but  buffets  and  scornful  sneers,  or  the 
cold  pity  of  the  world,  (between  the  two  there  is  not  much 
difference).  Young  and  gentle  in  his  nature  —  loving 
and  kind  to  all ;  with  honest  principles  ;  religiously  dis 
posed  ;  shunning  wicked  company,  and  striving,  with  his 
sister,  to  support  his  family — at  least,  to  keep  them  from 
starvation,  and  reform  his  parents  ;  he  was  suddenly  cut 
off — snatched  away  from  his  good  purposes.  Why  was 
this  done  ?  Who  could  tell  ?  It  was  one  of  the  inscru 
table  decrees  of  a  mysterious  but  never-emng  Providence. 

While  they  were  all  gathered  around  his  bier,  weeping 
the  unrestrained  tears  of  natural  sorrow,  the  poor  degraded 
father  came  staggering  and  stumbling,  and  jostling .  those 
in  his  way,  along  through  the  crowd. 

"  Can't  you  come  out  and  let  a  body  come?  What's  the 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  153 

use  of  having  a  home,  if  a  man  can't  get  in  it,  hey  ?  Can't 
ye  come  out  ?" 

"How  did  this  happen?"  asked  Mr.  Temple  of  one  of 
the  bystanders. 

"His  father  had  fallen  down  into  the  cellar  of  a  house,  that 
was  repairing,  on  Grand  street;  the  walls  were  tumbling  in, 
and  he  ran  down  to  extricate  his  father  ;  he  succeeded  in 
getting  the  poor  intoxicated  wretch  out,  but  he  would  not 
leave  the  spot,  until  Charley  went  back  for  his  old  straw 
hat,  which  he  had  dropped  off  in  his  fall.  The  kind,  and 
even  obedient  son  was  returning  with  it,  when  a  large  stone 
fell  upon  his  shoulder,  and  crushed  him.  The  father  was 
so  drunk,  that  he  did  not  understand  or  comprehend  the 
nature  of  the  awful  catastrophe." 

His  appearance  was  revolting  in  the  extreme ;  his  ragged 
clothes  were  covered  with  the  rubbish  and  filth,  which  he 
had  gathered  in  his  fall;  his  shaggy  hair  hung  in  strings  over 
his  haggard  countenance;  his  beard  had  not  been  shaven  for 
days  ;  his  red  flannel  shirt  had  changed  its  original  hue,  to 
an  invisible  purple  ;  his  stained,  and  faded  corduroy  pants, 
had  no  notion  of  an  upright  position,  without  being 
coaxed  by  an  old  leathern  belt.  He  stood  in  the'  middle 
of  the  room,  with  his  hat  in  both  hands,  holding  it  as  light 
and  careful,  as  if  it  was  composed  of  spun  glass,  and  lined 
with  cobwebs ;  he  looked  wildly  around,  but  seemed  entirely 
unconscious  of  what  had  occurred. 

"Father!  father!"  cried  Hannah,  "  see,  here  is  poor 
Charley.  Oh  !  I  always  knew  it  would  end  in  something 
dreadful — father,  do  you  hear?  poor,  dear  Charley  is  dead, 
father — dead — our  own  darling  Charley." 


154  MRS.  BEN  DARBV. 

"  But  I  guess  he  saved  the  hat,"  replied  the  old  toper, 
holding  it  up  in  both  hands,  and  grinning  like  an  idiot. 

"  Oh  !  father  !  have  you  no  heart — no  soul — Oh  !  my 
poor  brothers  and  sisters — Oh  !  sweet,  darling  Charley — 
dead — dead! "  The  poor  girl  gave  way  to  a  fresh  parox 
ysm  of  frantic  grief,  but  the  father  walked  doggedly  away 
from  the  body  of  his  dead  son,  and  seated  himself  on  the 
bedside,  still  holding  his  hat  with  caressing  pains. 

As  Mr.  Temple  looked  on,  he  felt  almost  discouraged  in 
his  good  resolves — but  perseverance  was  one  of  the  virtues 
of  the  Order  ;  he  determined  not  to  retire  from  the  work, 
without  at  least  making  all  the  efforts  within  his  power. 
In  the  first  place,  they  were  provided  with  food  and  rai 
ment.  He  then  procured  a  plain,  decent  coffin  for  the 
dead. 

The  next  day,  when  he  visited  Leonard  street,  he  found 
everything  different.  The  young  corpse  lay  in  a  black 
coffin,  and  a  crowd  of  the  poorer  class  of  people  had  as 
sembled,  as  much  from  curiosity  as  sympathy  or  good  feel 
ing.  They  were  talking,  whistling,  and  moving  to  and  fro, 
as  if  death  and  sorrow  had  no  hold  upon  human  sympathy. 
The  father  and  mother  were  both  smartened  up  in  the 
new  garments,  which  the  benevolence  of  Mr.  Temple  had 
provided  for  them.  Hannah  had  washed  and  fixed  up  the 
poor,  sickly,  debilitated  children,  who  were  selfish  enough 
to  express  their  joy  and  delight,  at  having  bread  to  eat, 
and  clean  things  to  put  on ;  little  recked  they  of  the  magni 
tude  of  the  catastrophe,  which  had  led  to  such  unlooked- 
for  good  fortune. 

"  Charley  will  never  want  to  eat  again,  will  he,  Han- 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  155 

nah?"  asked  Sammy,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  but  a  faint 
smile  on  his  lips. 

"Why  do  you  ask  such  a  question?"  answered  his  sister, 
shuddering. 

"  'Cause,  we  will  have  his  share  of  grub;  that's  'cause 
why." 

Poor  Hannah  wiped  the  tears  from  her  cheek,  and 
silently  went  about  arranging  matters  for  the  burial  of  her 
brother. 

Mr.  Temple  found  the  father  perfectly  sobered  by  his 
awful  situation  ;-he  was  not  only  deeply  affected  at  the  sad 
death  of  his  son,  but  was  suffering  all  the  tortures  which  con 
trition,  and  remorse  could  inflict.  He  felt  sensibly,  that  he 
had  been  the  cause  of  his  son's  destruction — the  immediate 
cause  of  his  death  ;  the  thought  was  almost  too  intolerable 
to  be  borne — the  very  wormwood  and  gall  of  bitterness. 
It  was  a  mental  aggravation  that  could  know  no  palliative; 
it  would  weigh  upon  the  heart,  as  long  as  life  should  last — 
a  souvenir  of  sin.  Even  if  he  could  reform,  and  lead  a 
new  life,  he  knew  and  felt,  that  the  present  wound  would 
rankle  in  his  soul,  as  long  as  "memory,  the  warden  of  the 
brain,"  held  its  office. 

"  Sir,  you  are  very  kind,"  said  the  agonized  father,  as 
Temple  offered  him  his  hand ;  he  tried  hard  not  to  see  it, 
but  his  visitor  was  determined  he  should  shake  hands  with 
him;  "you  have  been  kind — monstrous  kind,"  repeated 
Reeves,  trying  to  conceal  the  tears  which  were  falling  fast. 
"  It  has  been  a  long  time  since  I  heard  soft  words  from  a 
gentleman  like  you." 

"  I  expect,  Mr.  Reeves,  that  was  somewhat  your  own 
fault." 


156  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

"  Somewhat,  as  you  say  ;  but,  sir,  this  has  been  a  hard 
world  to  me — it  has  too." 

"  It  is  a  beautiful  world,  Mr.  Reeves,  and  full  of  bless 
ings." 

"  And  curses  too — I  know  it,"  replied  Reeves,  looking 
around  him  with  a  bitter  smile. 

"I  likewise,  my  friend — but  do  we  not  bring  those  curses 
sometimes  on  ourselves,  by  disobedience  and  willfulness — 
by  neglecting  the  duties  Providence  has  assigned  us — liv 
ing  without  regard  to  our  present  or  future  welfare  ?" 

"Oh!  sir,  you  speak  truly,"  said  Reeves,  pressing  his 
rough  hands  together  and  looking  wildly  at  the  gloomy 
coffin  which  contained  the  body  of  his  son.  "  It  is  dread 
ful  to  think  of  it!  Don't  talk  of  it." 

"We  must  speak  of  it,"  said  Temple,  laying  his  hand 
on  his  shoulder — "  it  is  for  your  good." 

"  I  can't  bear  it — no,  I  can't." 

"  If  you  had  been  stabbed  near  the  region  of  the  heart, 
and  a  physician  were  to  stand  by  and  witness  your  writhing 
agonies,  would  you  not  call  him  heartless  if  he  did  not  offer 
to  extract  the  festering  steel?" 

"  Sir,  it  is  worse  than  that — it  is  in  my  heart  deep, 
deep — no  hand  can  reach  it." 

"  You  are  a  man — you  will  let  me  try?" 

"  I  am  not,  sir»— I  am  a  brute  unworthy  of  your  notice. 
I  am  vile.  I  am  the  murderer  of  my  own  son,  my  beloved, 
darling  son!" 

"Oh!  Charley!"  cried  the  mother,  throwing  herself  back 
on  the  chair — "  we  did  not  know  how  dear  you  were  !" 

"  No,  sir,  we  have  been  blind." 

"  Your  eyes  are  now  opened,"  said  Mr.  Temple. 


MRS.  BEN  DARBT.  157 

"  I  see  it  all — I  wish,  sir,  the  cursed  stone  had  fallen  on 
my  head." 

"  That  is  wrong.  There  is  a  wise  and  just  Providence, 
who  orders  all  things  for  the  best." 

"  It  can't  be  for  the  best — I  know  it  can't !"  screamed 
the  mother.  "  You  need  not  preach  that  doctrine — there 
is  no  best  in  it!  I  know  there  isn't!" 

"Be  still,  mother,"  said  Hannah,  soothingly.  "Listen!" 

"  That  boy,  sir,  was  our  support.  I  have  been  a  very 
wicked  father !" 

"  God  forgive  ye  !"  said  the  mother. 

"I  hope,  Mr.  Reeves,  this  will  be  the  means  of  reform 
ing  you — you  must  quit  drinking.  It  is  no  use  to  be  nice 
about  words.  You  and  your  wife  have  led  a  horrible  life — 
your  children  are  perishing  for  food,  and  their  souls  are 
starving  for  moral  instruction.  What  do  you  suppose  will 
be  the  end  of  all  this  ?  Destruction  to  yourselves  and  to 
your  children !" 

"  Poor  Charley  is  the  first,"  said  Hannah,  wringing  her 
hands. 

"  If  I  had  only  been  sober,  yesterday,  this  never  would 
have  happened — it  couldn't." 

"  In  course  it  couldn't,"  said  Mrs.  Reeves. 

"  How  long  have  you  been  drinking?"  asked  the  Son  of 
Temperance. 

"  I  have  not  drawn  a  sober  breath  for  years — that  is  to 
say,  I  have  never  been  without  the  scent  of  it  on  my 
breath.  Don't  tell  me  I  could  reform  and  become  sober  1 
Don't  talk  to  me  about  signing  the  pledge — if  I  was  to,  I 
should  break  it." 

"  You  can  reform — and  now  is  the  time  to  commence.    It 


168  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

is  true,  you  cannot  undo  what  you  have  done — you  cannot 
restore  the  beloved  form  of  your  son  to  Kfe,  but  all  the 
other  evils  can  be  remedied — the  other  six  children  can  be 
snatched  from  ruin  and  disgrace.  Your  wife  will  be 
rescued,  perhaps,  from  perdition.  Are  you  a  man  ?  Can 
you  hesitate?" 

"  Oh !  sir,  show  me  the  way,  and  if  there  is  enough  of 
manhood  in  me,  I  will  try.  I  will,  sir,  indeed  I  will. 
Help  me,  sir,  I  am  weak  and  vile !"  and  the  tears  fell  plen- 
teously  from  his  eyes. 

"See  here,"  said  Temple,  drawing  the  white  covering 
from  the  cold,  clammy  face  of  the  dead  boy ;  "  this  is  your 
son — your  dead  son.  God  gave  him  to  you,  and  God  has 
taken  him  away.  You  loved  him?" 

"As  well  as  a  drunkard  could  love,"  replied  Reeves; 
"but  that's  little — now  I  know  how  little — not  so  well  as 
the  bottle.  I  have  loved  nothing  but  rum,  for  years." 

"That's  the  truth,  John  Reeves,"  said  his  wife — "if 
ever  you  told  it." 

"  But  I  never  thought  it  would  come  to  this — this.  Oh ! 
my  poor  boy  !  what  a  wretch  I  am !" 

Temple  took  the  hand  of  Reeves  and  laid  it  on  the  cold, 
silent  heart  of  the  son.  "  Here,  in  this  solemn  place,  swear 
that  you  will  never  take  alcohol  again  in  any  form  or  for 
any  purpose ;  here,  under  the  shadow  of  the  dead  and  in 
presence  of  your  Maker !" 

"  Oh!  sir,  I  cannot!"  cried  the  trembling  father,  draw 
ing  his  hand  suddenly  back;  "I  should  break  that  oath 
and  dishonor  the  dead.  I  can't  do  it." 

"  If  you  are  sincere  in  your  profession  of  sorrow  and 
penitence,  you  cannot  object  to  anything  that  will  support 


MRS.  BEN  DARBF.  159 

• 

and  sustain  you  in  that  resolution.  If  you  are  not  in  ear 
nest,  forbear  !" 

"I  am  in  earnest — I  will!  I  "will!  and  I  here  pledge 
myself  before  my  wife  and  children,  and  in  presence  of  my 
dead  son — Oh  !  Charley !  bear  witness  for  your  miserable 
father — never  to  touch  the  accursed  stuff  again.  So  help 
me  God!" 

."Mother!  mother!"  cried  Hannah;  "do  you  hear  my 
father? — do  you  hear  him?" 

"Yes,  I  hear  him.  I  have  heard  John  lleeves  talk 
before." 

"  Can  you  hear  him  and  be  still,  mother?  have  you  no 
promise  to  make  ? — is  he  the  only  rum  drinker  in  the 
house?" 

"It  is  easy  talking — I  want  to  see  him  do  what  he  has 
said  he  would." 

"  Oh,  mother!  will  you  not  give  a  promise  to  Charley? 
He  has  died  to  save  you  from  a  bitter  curse  I" 

"Well,"  replied  the  wife,  drawing  herself  up;  "I'll 
promise  never  to  drink  another  drop,  as  long  as  Reeves 
keeps  sober;  but  if  he  is  at  it  again,  why  I'll  go  halves. 
I  was  a  sober  woman  until  he  brought  the  truck  in  the 
house." 

"  I  know,  I  did  it  all — I  never  blamed  you,  Sally." 

"  How  could  you  ?  You  learned  me  how.  I  never 
tasted  rum,  in  my  life,  till  you  began  the  game;  but  I 
won't  stand  in  your  road,  John  ;  you  shan't  have  it  to 
say — no,  you  shan't " 

"  You  have  been  just  as  much  to  blame  as  Reeves," 
said  Temple  to  the  wife ;  "  perhaps  more  so.  If  he  does 
wrong,  it  is  no  reason  you  should ;  and  if  he  rendered  him- 


ICO  MKS.  BEN  DARBY. 

self  unfit  for  the  duties  of  a  father,  it  was  more  incumbent 
on  you  to  double  your  diligence  as  a  mother." 

"  The  men  always  take  up  for  the  men — it  is  mighty  easy 
preaching,  but  I  guess,  sir,  if  you  straighten  the  kinks  out 
of  John  Reeves,  you  won't  find  any  hinderance  from  Sally." 

"  Hush,  mother  !"  said  Hannah,  "  here  comes  a  minister 
to  pray  with  us  and  bury  Charley." 

A  new  burst  of  sorrow  filled  the  little  room,  and  after 
the  elapse  of  a  half  hour  the  hearse  and  two  hacks  left  for 
the  burial  of  the  dead. 

Mr.  Temple  watched  faithfully  over  his  converts.  He 
judged  from  the  first  that  the  husband  was  sincere  and  res 
olute  in  his  efforts  to  reform.  A  few  evenings  after,  at  a 
meeting  of  the  Temperance  Society,  the  name  of  John 
Reeves  was  presented  as  a  candidate  for  admission  to  the 
order.  He  was  sustained  and  countenanced  by  the  bro 
therhood.  He  got  as  much  work  as  he  could  do,  and  as  soon 
as  Temple  was  perfectly  satisfied  that  he  would  not  relapse, 
he  gave  him  the  refusal  of  a  small  farm,  which  lay  on  the 
Hudson  river,  a  short  distance  from  the  city.  He  and  his 
family  were  delighted  with  the  prospect  of  a  country  life, 
and  readily  embraced  the  offer.  In  a  short  time  they  were 
comfortably  settled  in  their  new  home.  Mrs.  Reeves  kept 
her  word,  and  often,  when  her  husband  left  for  the  city 
market,  she  would  follow  him  to  the  big  gate  to  say,  "John, 
let  what  comes,  don't,  for  God's  sake,  break  the  pledge !" 
Her  advice  was  perhaps  timely,  but  Reeves  had  no  inclina 
tion  to  retrace  his  old  steps.  What  the  temperance  society 
commenced,  the  evangelical  truths  of  the  church  finished, 
and  no  one  would  have  recognized  the  dark,  haggard,  dogged 
inebriate,  in  the  active,  enthusiastic,  church-going  Reeves. 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  161 

Hannah  was  taken  into  Mr.  Temple's  family  as  a  friend, 
rather  than  a  servant,  to  Elinor.  In  the  meantime,  Theo 
dore  Harper  was  not  forgotten,  but  no  one  had  seen  or 
heard  of  him  since  the  night  Elinor  was  restored  to  her 
family.  Every  exertion  had  been  made  to  find  him  out,  but 
in  vain.  Letters  were  written  back  to  his  old  home, 
but  he  had  never  returned  or  written. 
14 


162  MRS.  BEN  DAKBY. 


Cjiayttt     14. 

I  see  how  folks  live  that  have  riches, 

But  surely,  poor  folk  maun  be  wretches. — BCRSS. 

THE  acquisition  of  fortune  to  the  Fairmont  family,  ren 
dered  their  manner  of  life  more  tolerable,  and  advanced 
their  claims  upon  good  society.  It  gave  peace  and  plenty, 
where  lately  toil  and  want  held  the  household  in  thraldom. 
It  rendered  Mr.  Fairmont,  at  first,  more  pleasant  and  agree 
able  in  his  family.  The  excitement  of  moving  to  a  fine 
commodious  dwelling,  purchasing  furniture  and  luxuries,  to 
which  they  had  so  long  been  strangers,  amused  and  stimu 
lated  him  for"  a  few  months,  and  drew  him  from  his  old 
habits.  Mr.  Temple  and  his  temperance  associates  used 
their  best  endeavors  to  reclaim  him.  They  tried  to  sur 
round  him  with  benign  influences,  and  draw  him  within  the 
circle  of  the  brotherhood ;  but  he  swore  he  was  not  going 
to  be  tied  up  by  anybody — that  he  drank  his  own  liquor, 
and  paid  for  it  with  his  own  money — that  he  lived  in  a  free 
country,  and  would  do  just  as  he  pleased.  "  What  !  sign 
away  his  liberty,  like  a  poor  half-hearted  devil,  that  could 
not  say  his  soul  was  his  own  ?  No,  indeed  !  he  was  not 
going  to  put  his  conscience  in  any  other  man's  keeping  — 
if  they  did  not  like  him  or  his  wine,  they  could  keep  away  ; 
he  would  see  that  the  temperance  folks  handled  none  of  his 
money  !" 

His  present  situation  afforded  him  the  means  of  excessive 
indulgence.  He  could  not,  it  is  true,  encroach  upon  the 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  163 

property  of  his  wife  and  children  in  any  point,  yet  he  dis 
posed  of  all  that  he  could  by  right  or  ingenuity  appropri 
ate  to  himself  or  his  extravagance.  Every  day  he  became 
more  selfish.  He  gave  suppers  to  a  low,  lawless  set  of 
associates  and  loafers,  in  disregard  of  the  entreaties  of  his 
wife,  or  the  delicate  feelings  of  his  children.  Their  future 
prospects  never  entered  into  his  thoughts,  but  blind  and 
willful,  he  dashed  on  through  a  vortex  of  degradation  and 
crime.  From  excessive  drinking,  he  gave  way  to  every 
temptation  that  beset  him.  In  the  midst  of  his  unlawful 
career,  he  was  brought  home  at  a  late  hour  of  the  night, 
horribly  mutilated  in  the  face,  and  stabbed  in  his  side  by 
some  hero  of  the  bowie-knife,  with  whom  he  had  quar 
reled  in  some  of  those  dens  of  infernal  purposes.  He  had 
been  gambling  high,  and  being  quite  heated  with  his 
evening  cups,  he  became  captious  and  indignant  toward  his 
fiendish  friends;  a  dispute  arose,  which  ended  in  a  perfect 
row,  in  which  he  fell  desperately  wounded. 

He  was  received  at  home  with  every  demonstration  of 
care  and  attention.  He  was  confined  to  his  bed,  unable  to 
assist  himself,  but  lay  like  a  chained  demon,  raving  and 
blaspheming  to  such  a  degree,  that  his  friends  could  not 
bear  to  approach  him.  His  physician  forbade  him  the  use 
of  stimulants,  as  his  situation  was  very  precarious,  and  his 
wounds  in  great  danger  of  mortification.  He  became 
furious — had  to  be  guarded  by  strong  watchers.  Through 
all  the  tortuous  scenes  of  his  confinement,  his  gentle  wife, 
with  unflinching  fortitude,  watched  by  his  pillow.  When 
others  trembled  and  quailed  at  his  hideous  and  unearthly 
extravagances,  she  soothed  him  by  kind  words  and  loving 
promises.  He  would  beg  for  one  drop — one  taste  only,  as 


164  MRS.  BEN  DARBV. 

much  as  would  dampen  his  feverish  lips  ;  then  he  would 
rave,  and  break  out  in  volleys  of  the  most  appalling  curses. 
Thus  passed  a  week,  or  ten  days,  in  which  time,  in  despite 
of  his  inhuman  conduct,  he  began  to  recover.  As  his 
wounds  became  by  degrees  less  alarming  in  their  appear 
ance  and  symptoms,  he  also  gradually  became  more  paci 
fied  in  his  nature,  and  less  brutal  in  his  manners  ;  suffice  it 
to  say,  to  the  astonishment  of  all,  he  appeared  quite  satis 
fied  with  his  retirement  and  regimen,  and  seemed  to  have 
forgotten  his  former  unprincipled  course.  Happy  hearts 
rejoiced  over  his  reformation,  and  prayed  that  it  might  be 
lasting.  Months  had  passed  since  his  disaster,  but  Fair 
mont  had  never  been  able  to  leave  the  house. 

George  had  gone  to  West  Point,  and  Kate  to  Troy,  to 
complete  their  education.  Mrs.  Fairmont,  with  her  four 
young  children  had  gone  out  to  take  a  walk  in  the  park,  as 
the  afternoon  had  been  quite  oppressive.  Mr.  Fairmont's 
attendants  had  long  since  been  discharged,  and  for  the  last 
two  months,  it  had  not  been  thought  necessary  to  have  any 
particular  watch  over  him.  His  servant  was  very  faithful 
and  attentive,  and  never  left  the  house  during  his  mis 
tress's  absence. 

Mrs.  Fairmont  and  her  little  party  had  been  gone  but  a 
few  moments,  before  some  one  rang  the  bell: 

"  Is  Mr.  Fairmont  at  home  ?"  asked  a  man,  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  Yes  sir." 

"  Tell  him,  an  old  friend  wishes  to  see  him." 

"  That's  a  jewel  I  did  not  know  I  possessed,"  said  Fair 
mont,  when  he  heard  the  message,  "  hustle  him  along,  and 
let's  see  what  kind  of  a  bird  he  is.  Ah!  is  it  you,  Darby? — 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  166 

where  are  you  from  ?"  asked  Fairmont,  shaking  him  by 
the  hand. 

"From  perdition!" 

"  You  don't  say  so.  How  do  you  like  the  country  ? — 
rather  too  warm,  hey  ?" 

"  I  have  no  mind,  or  time  to  talk — where's  your  wife, 
Fairmont  ?" 

"  Out,  showing  the  children  in  the  park." 

"  Is  she  as  pious  as  ever  ?" 

"Just  so." 

"  And  rich,  I  hear  ?"  added  Darby. 

"  As  cream,  man — but  what  is  it  to  you  ?" 

"  I  want  money — I  have  just  broken  out  of  prison — I 
must  have  money  enough  to  take  me  to — no  matter 
where — I  must  have  it." 

"  I  have  none  to  give  you." 

"  Your  wife  has,  and  I  must  have  some." 

"Well!  if  you  must,  you  must — but  you  will  have  to  wait 
until  Jane  comes.  I  have  been  ill — very  ill,  for  a  long 
time,  Darby,  and  have  had  no  use  for  money." 

"  No  use  for  money!"  repeated  his  companion,  in  a  tone 
of  mock  surprise,  "How  you  talk  !  it  surely  can't  be  Simon 
Fairmont  I  am  talking  to,  for  I  remember  the  time — and  it 
has  not  been  long  ago  either — when  you  could  not  have 
enough — and  was  not  over  nice  about  the  means  to  gain 
it." 

"  Talk  on — I  deserve  all  you  can  say — I  have  been  a 
dev'lish  scamp,  and  no  mistake — but  when  you  get  honest 
it  will  be  time  to  preach  honesty  to  your  betters." 

"We  will   not   quarrel   about  what   we  never  had,  or 


166  MRS.  BEN  DARBT. 

ever  will  have — I  can't  wait  for  your  purse-keeper — where 
does  she  keep  her  funds  ?" 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Darby  ? — what  can  you  mean  ?" 

"  Oh !  don't  be  alai-med — I  only  intend  to  have  some 
before  I  leave." 

"  You  don't  come  to  rob  old  friends,"  said  Fairmont, 
with  a  sarcastic  smile  ;  "  if  Jane  had  known  you  were  in 
want,  or  her  sister  suffering,  she  would  have  attended  to 
her  case.  Where  is  your  wife,  Darby  ?" 

"  At  our  lodgings,  on  Hudson  street — but  come,  if  you 
have  any  money  to  give  me,  hurry — I  must  have  some." 

"  Here  is  all  I  have,"  said  Fairmont,  giving  him  a  ten 
dollar  bill,  "take  it,  and  go  your  ways — and  for  God's  sake 
don't  show  your  face  here  again,  if  you  have  been  guilty 
of  a  crime." 

"  Is  this  the  way  you  treat  your  old  comrades  ?  Fair 
mont,  with  all  your  roughness  and  brutality,  I  always 
thought  there  was  something  noble  at  the  bottom  of  your 
nature,  but  I  have  judged  erroneously — an  old  companion, 
one  who  always  stuck  to  you  through  evil  and  good " 

"  Evil !  yes,  you  may  say  that ;  but  it  is  darn'd  little  good 
that  we  ever  saw  together.  I  have  never  known  one  good 
act  result  from  our  intimacy  ;  and  it  matters  not  what  we 
have  been,  I  am  bound  to  shield  my  family  from  the  evil 
influence  to  which  I  have  hitherto  subjected  them." 

"How  long  since  you  made  this  heroic  resolution?"  in 
quired  Darby,  with  a  sneer. 

"  Since  you  entered  the  room,  and  told  me  you  had  been 
in  prison." 

"  Accused  of  murder!"  added  Darby,  boldly. 


MRS.  BEN  DAKBY.  167 

"  Guilty,  or  not  guilty,  Ben  ?" 

"  That  is  for  the  jury  to  decide,  when  it  has  heard  the 
evidence.  Such  things  are  very  precarious,  and  I  resolved 
to  save  running  the  risk,  by  making  my  escape.  No  doubt, 
they  are  searching  for  me  now  ;  it  was  our  old  friend, 
Benson." 

"  That  you  murdered  ?"  asked  Fairmont. 

"He  is  not  dead  ;  I  wish  he  was." 

"  That  is  very  singular.  I  thought  he  was  your  best 
friend  ?" 

"  He  may  be,  for  aught  I  know  ;  but  he  is  suffering  so, 
and  all  for  nothing,  that  I  wish  I  had  let  him  alone,  or  ended 
his  misery." 

"  Tell  me  the  circumstances,  Darby ;  were  you  gam 
bling  ?" 

"  No ;  would  you  believe  it,  Fairmont  ? — it  was  jeal 
ousy,  the  '  green-eyed  monster.'  Oh  !  I  have  led  a  horrible 
life  since  I  saw  you  ;  that  woman  has  been  my  destiny." 

"  Well,  you  would  have  it ;  she  was  the  wife  of  another 
man,  and  you  would  not  let  her  be.  Who  is  her  tempter 
now — some  very  good-looking  fellow,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  She  was  innocent,"  replied  Darby,  flinching  as  though 
he  was  felt  with  a  probe.  "  It  was  all  imagination.  You 
see,  I  had  been  drinking  a  little  too  freely,  and  when  I  en 
countered  my  wife  and  some  one  walking  toward  our  lodg 
ings,  I  followed  a  little  distance  behind  to  watch  their  move 
ments,  and  when  they  parted  at  the  door,  I  confronted  him, 
and  accused  him  of  trying  to  seduce  my  wife.  He  denied 
the  charge,  and  said  that  'if  I  had  not  been  guilty  of  such 
an  act  myself,  I  would  not  be  so  ready  to  accuse  other 


168  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

people  ;'  then  I  cursed  him  ;  he  struck  me,  and  I  stabbed 
him." 

"  Is  he  dead,  did  you  say  ?" 

"  Not  quite." 

"  I  was  caught  —  brought  before  the  court  —  and  com 
mitted  to  prison,  last  night.  I  broke  out,  and  have  been 
hid  all  day  under  ground.  You  see  my  necessities  are  im 
perious!" 

"  I  thought  liquor  was  never  your  excuse  for  foul  deeds  — 
it  never  unnerved  you  ?" 

"  It  begins  to  affect  me  differently.  I  loathe  it  —  yet  have 
not  strength  of  purpose  enough  to  shun  it.  It  is  part  of  my 
nature  ;  I  could  not  exist  without  it.  They  tell  me  you 
have  reformed,"  continued  Darby,  looking  quizzically  at 
his  old  comrade. 

"  Well,  I  don't  pretend  to  say  I  have.  I  can't  feel  as  if 
I  had  ;  but  if  you  had  told  me,  six  months  ago,  that  I  could 
have  kept  soul  and  body  together  so  long,  without  the  use 
of  ardent  spirits,  I  should  have  laughed  at  the  idea." 

"  I  should  have  laughed  myself,"  said  his  visitor,  sneer- 


"  I  don't  know,  now,  what  I  might  do  if  I  was  tempted  —  • 
just  in  the  road  of  it.  Man  is  a  poor,  weak  devil  at 
best." 

"  Yes  ;  very  feeble,  when  he  suffers  himself  to  be  de 
prived  of  his  liberty  of  conscience  —  to  be  cooped  up  and 
restrained  like  a  bad  boy." 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  Darby,  I  have  found  out,  since 
my  long  illness,  that  I  am  a  poor,  half-souled,  irresolute, 
uncertain  machine,  which  has  been  so  used  and  abused, 


MRS.  BEN  DARBZ.  169 

that  it  has  to  be  braced  up  and  screwed  at  every  point ;  and 
after  all  its  repairs,  it  can  scarcely  perform  the  purposes  for 
which  it  was  originally  made." 

"  You  are  growing  philosophical,  I  perceive." 
"  No  ;"  I  have  been  blind,  and  am  just  getting  my  eyes 
open." 

"  You  cannot  walk  out  ?"  asked  Darby,  kindly  smiling, 
"  because  now  you  have  reformed,  there  would  be  no  dan 
ger  of  your  going  in  too  deep,  and  I  would  like  to  take  a 
parting  glass,  for  '  auld  lang  syne,'  you  know." 

"  It  is  with  great  difficulty  I  can  move  across  the  floor," 
replied  Fairmont,  "  and  even  if  I  could,  drinking  with  Ben 
Darby,  a  well-to-do  grocery-keeper,  and  Ben  Darby,  a  refu 
gee  murderer,  are  two  things!" 

"  Well,  Fairmont,  you  sha'n't  say  that  I  stood  by,  and 
saw  you  imposed  on — held  in  vile  slavery — your  conscience 
contracted  and  extended  according  to  the  notions  and 
whims  of  others.  See  here,"  and  with  the  smile  of  a  de 
mon,  he  drew  a  flask  from  his  pocket,  and  set  it  down  on 
the  table,  "don't  this  remind  you  of  old  times.  It  is  the 
same  tickler  that  we  used  in  common  so  long.  I  leave  it 
with  you  as  a  memento  of  happier  days.  If  you  can  look 
at  it  two  weeks  without  tasting  it,  why,  man,  you  may 
know  whether  you  have  reformed  or  not ;  this  will  re 
move  all  doubts  ;  you  may  call  yourself  a  reformed  drunk 
ard." 

"  For  God's  sake,  take  it  away,"  cried  Fairmont,  his  face 
flushing,  and  trembling  from  head  to  foot. 

"  No,  no,  Fairmont,  I  call  this  a  knock-down  argument ; 
farewell,  perhaps  when  you  hear  of  me  again,  I  shall  be 

elevated  to  a  more  conspicuous  situation  ;"  buttoning  up  his 
16 


170  MRS.  BEN  DARBT. 

coat,  he  hurried  down  stairs,  leaving  his  old  comrade  be 
wildered  by  his  movements. 

Fairmont  drew  a  long  breath,  as  he  heard  the  door  close 
behind  his  visitor.  For  some  time  he  sat  with  his  eyes 
fixed  on  his  old  acquaintance,  as  it  sat  cozily  on  the  table, 
with  its  well-remembered  features.  The  abrupt  and  unex 
pected  visit  of  Darby  upset  his  composure,  and  his  mind,  in 
a  moment,  was  running  back  over  the  long  waste  of  mis 
spent  years — times  of  their  early  association.  His  heart 
warmed  at  the  recollection  of  their  jovial  hours — of  their 
wild,  boisterous,  and  reckless  exploits — the  wit  and  humor 
of  his  comrade — 

"  IDs  ancient,  trusty,  drouther  crony, 
He  loved  him  like  a  vera  brither, 
They  had  been  fou  for  weeks  thegither." 

It  was  in  vain  that  he  tried  to  divert  his  thoughts.  He 
took  up  the  newspaper  and  tried  to  read,  but  he  could  not 
keep  his  eyes  from  the  bottle. 

"  No,  it  will  not  do  to  tamper  with  the  lion,  or  play  with 
edged  tools,"  said  he,  drawing  himself  up.  "  I  will  not 
meddle  with  the  cursed  stuff.  What  can  make  Ben  so  vile  ? 
— the  insidious  tempter — I'll  let  him  see  what  grit  I  am." 
He  took  up  the  bottle  and  held  it  before  the  light.  It  was 
full.  He  took  out  the  stopper,  and  a  perfume  of  rich  cogniac 
saluted  his  olfactory  nerves.  It  was  strong  and  powerful, 
as  of  old.  "  I'll  be  hanged  if  it  is  not  the  real  stuff,  and 
no  mistake  ;  Simon,  what  say  you  to  a  pull  ? — '  to  drink,  or 
not  to  drink,  that  is  the  question ' — whether,  like  a  man,  I 
will  wrestle  against  temptation,  or  turn  once  more  to  death 
and  ruin.  Oh  !  thou  accursed  begetter  of  ten  thousand  fu 
rious  passions  !  thou  deadly  anodyne  to  all  the  noble  feel- 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  171 

ings  of  man's  nature  !  enticer  to  all  the  horrors  of  polluted 
fancy  !  engenderer  of  vice,  and  all  the  catalogue  of  evils  to 
which  the  soul  is  subject !  Oh  !  how  I  have  loved  thee,  thou 
damnable  drug  !  How  blindly  have  I  devoted  all  to  thy 
service — to  thy  infernal  influence !  Wife,  children,  and 
friends,  reputation  and  health,  have  all  been  surrendered 
without  one  effort,  one  solitary  reservation.  I  have  served 
thee  with  a  blind  zeal  and  never-flinching  devotion  ;  but  I 
renounce  thee  forever ;  I  will  not  yield  myself  a  victim  to 
thy  dominion  again.  Oh  !  we  must  struggle  for  the  mastery. 
Lie  there,  thou  fell  destroyer  !  Begone  !  I  will  not  taste 
thee,  beverage  of  hell!"  He  pushed  it  out  of  sight, 
and  turned  to  the  open  window ;  the  breeze  came 
softly  over  his  agitated  face  ;  he  heard  the  steps  of  his 
wife  on  the  pavement,  and  the  joyous  voices  of  the 
little  gladsome  party,  as  they  followed  their  mother  up 
the  steps. 

"  How  glad  I  am,  Simon,  you  did  not  touch  it,"  said  he, 
mentally,  as  his  wife  entered  with  her  calm,  sweet  smile. 
She  approached  him  so  loving  and  true  that  he  could  not 
resist  the  newly-awakened  stimulus  of  nature  in  his 
heart — he  reached  out  his  arms,  and  without  any  expla 
nation,  she  was  pressed  to  his  heart,  and  for  the  first 
time  in  her  life,  she  felt  his  warm  tears  upon  her  cheek. 
His  voice  was  husky,  with  strange  and  incomprehensible 
emotion. 

Mrs.  Fairmont  looked  wildly  in  his  face  ;  the  new  and 
unaccountable  expression  of  his  features  overpowered  her, 
and  she  hid  her  face  in  his  bosom. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,  Jane,  I  am  not  going  to  act  the  fool ; 


172  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

don't  cry.  I  am  a  devilish  queer  fellow  ;  I  am  a  monster, 
wife,  I  know  it ;  why  have  you  not  hated  me  all  this  tune — 
shunned  and  despised  me  ?" 

"Because  you  were  my  husband — the  father  of  my 
children,  and  you  have  always  loved  me." 

"  Jane,  that  is  true  ;  but  I  have  been  very  unkind." 

"  You  never  meant  to  be  so." 

"  Yes,  I  did,  Jane  ;  .do  you  see  that  bottle  ?" 

"What  bottle  ?"  said  Jane,  in  great  agitation. 

"  This,  wife,  do  you  see  it  ?"  '  ^   » 

"  Yes  ;  what  is  in  it  ?" 

"  Life  or  death.     Brandy,  child,  brandy." 

"  How  strange  you  are  to-night  —  how  did  you 
get  it?" 

"  A  friend  brought  it  to  me." 

"Oh!  no — not  a  friend,  but  some  poor,  miserable 
tempter.  Oh  !  pray,  do  not  taste  it ;  perhaps  it  is 
drugged. 

"  Ay,  I  know  it  is,  with  poison  more  subtle  than  helle 
bore,  for  it  kills  soul  and  body." 

"  Let  me  destroy  it,  Mr.  Fairmont,"  asked  his  wife,  be 
seechingly. 

"  No,  Jane,  I  want  you  every  day,  at  dinner,  and  every 
evening,  at  tea,  to  place  this  bottle  before  me." 

"  Oh  !  I  cannot,  husband — Oh  !  no,  I  will  not  tempt  you 
in  any  way  ;  no,  I  dare  not  do  it." 

"  Well,  well,  our  man  John  shall  do  it." 

This  was  actually  done,  at  his  request,  every  day  for 
two  weeks  :  at  the  expiration  of  the  term,  and  just  that 
evening  two  weeks  from  the  time  Darby  left,  Mr.  Fairmont 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  173 

arose  at  the  tea-table,  and  taking  the  bottle  in  his  hand, 
and  holding  it  out  to  his  wife,  said  :  ^. 

"Jane,  take  this,  it  has  lost  even  the  power  of  temptation; 
I  am  a  changed  man,  and  I  have  to  thank  you  and  this 
"bottle." 

Just  as  he  placed  it  again  on  the  table  it  burst  into 
pieces  ;  the  remains  at  the  bottom  of  it  were  examined,  and 
were  found  to  contain  opium.  What  was  Darby's  design  no 
one  knew. 

Months  passed  off,  and  Fairmont  remained  true  to  his 
good  resolutions ;  he  was  indeed  a  changed  man,  and  Jane 
Fairmont  was  more  than  fully  compensated  for  all  her  hard 
trials  ;  all  her  sorrows  were  forgotten,  or  if  they  returned 
to  memory  they  only  served  to  magnify,  by  contrast,  the 
magnitude  of  her  present  happiness. 

When  he  became  well  enough  to  go  out,  she  was  always 
ready  to  accompany  him,  and  as  he  still  continued  to  be 
very  lame,  she  always  had  a  good  excuse  for  offering  her 
services.  She  dreaded,  at  first,  his  meeting  with  his  old 
companions,  for  fear  they  might  again  lead  him  astray  be 
fore  his  reformation  could  be  radically  effected.  Her  influ 
ence  over  him  increased  every  day  ;  she  persuaded  him  to 
attend  a  temperance  lecture,  and  as  he  was  naturally  warm 
and  impetuous,  he  was  carried  away  by  the  enthusiasm 
manifested  by  the  speaker ;  he  felt  so  fully  sensible  of  the 
truths  held  forth  in  the  arguments  that  he  joined  heartily  in 
the  cause  ;  he  even  went  so  far  as  to  give  an  off-hand  speech 
on  temperance,  which  was  remarkable  alone  for  its  origin 
ality  and  vehemence  ;  but  it  had  a  wonderful  effect  upon 
those  of  the  audience  who  had  been  acquainted  with  his  for 
mer  course  of  life." 


174  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

He  lost,  by  degrees,  the  rough,  unfeeling  manner  which 
had  marked  his  wayward  course,  and  became  less  harsh 
and  blunt  in  his  domestic  circle.  Mrs.  Fairmont  would 
have  felt  unspeakably  happy  at  the  change  daily  manifested 
in  the  conduct  of  her  husband,  had  she  not  also  witnessed 
the  rapid  decline  of  his  constitutional  powers.  As  his  mind 
gained  health  and  strength  his  frame  gradually  yielded  to  an 
insidious  disease  brought  on  by  habitual  intemperance. 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 


Chapter 

Lo,  you  I  here  she  comes.    This  is  her  very  guise ;  and  upon  my  life,  fast  aaleep. 
Observe  her — stand  close. — SHAKSPEARE. 

MRS.  FAIRMONT  had  been  trying,  for  several  weeks,  to 
discover  the  lodgings  of  Darby  and  his  wife ;  at  last  she 
gave  up  all  hope  of  discovering  them.  Hannah  Reeves, 
one  of  her  most  efficient  emissaries,  declared  "  that  you 
had  just  as  well  look  for  a  needle  in  a  haystack."  Some 
three  or  four  days  after  Mrs.  Fairmont's  last  search  for  her 
sister,  and  after  she  had  abandoned  all  hope  of  seeing  or 
hearing  from  her,  she,  by  accident,  was  led  to  discover 
them.  Bridget,  a  girl  employed  as  a  nurse,  came  in,  one 
morning,  to  desire  permission  to  go  home  for  an  hour 
or  so. 

"  Why  will  not  to-morrow  do  as  well?"  asked  Mrs.  Fair 
mont. 

"As  for  myself,  ma'am,"  replied  Bridget;  "it  would  be 
all  one  and  the  same  thing;  but,  ma'am,  my  mother  is 
quite  poorly,  and  my  father  is  drunk,  and  the  children  are 
all  down  with  the  measles,  and  our  genteel  boarders  are 
going  to  leave  without  paying  their  dues ;  and  you  know, 
ma'am,  it  is  very  hard  to  live  on  nothing  without  some 
thing  to  keep  it  up." 

"  Yes,  Bridget,  especially  if  one  has  boarders." 

"And  sich  boarders,  too,  ma'am !  Why  it  is  only  taking 
the  bread  out  of  our  own  mouths  to  put  it  in  theirs." 


176  MRS.  BEN  DAKBY. 

"Why  do  you  not  get  rid  of  them  ?" 

"  We  have  tried  hard  to  do  it,  but  you  had  as  well  try 
to  shift  off  the  ague." 

"Do  you  find  their  meals?" 

"  Only  once  a  day,  when  called  for.  It  is  no  very  great 
need  that  they  have  for  victuals,  to-be-sure,  ma'am." 

"Very  queer  people!     How  do  they  live?" 

"  True  for  you,  ma'am,  and  well  might  you  say  that 
same  thing,  providing  you  could  see  them  and  their  doings — 
but  it  is  not  myself  that  likes  to  be-rate  our  customers." 

"Are  they  decent  people?" 

"  Dacent  1  Oh  !  ma'am,  all  but  the  dacent — they  both 
drink  beyond  all  r'asonable  bounds." 

"Drink!"  cried  Mrs.  Fairmont,  with  a  start;  "who 
knows,  Bridget,  but  they  are  the  very  people  we  have  been 
looking  for?" 

"Never,  ma'am!"  replied  Bridget,  raising  her  hands 
and  eyes. 

"What  name  do  they  go  by?" 

"  She  calls  herself  Mrs.  Ben  Darby." 

"  Oh !  yes,  it  is  the  same.  Is  the  woman  very  hand 
some?" 

"Sorry  a  bit,  ma'am;  she  and  beauty  has  parted  long 
ago,  and  are  now  living  like  strangers." 

Mrs.  Fairmont  gave  the  girl  permission  to  visit  home  and 
see  how  matters  stood,  and  if  the  boarders  had  not  left,  -to 
return  and  let  her  know;  and  if  she  needed  any  comforts 
for  the  sick  children,  she  would  try  and  supply  them. 

"  Thank'ee,  ma'am ;  and  if  everybody  was  like  your  own 
self,  ma'am,  it  is  very  little  of  sorrow  the  world  would  be 
afther  knowing." 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  177 

About  an  hour  elapsed  and  Bridget  returned  in  great 
haste. 

"  Ma'am,  if  you  please,  you  can  come." 

"Is  she  still  there? — you  are  certain?" 

"  Oh !  yes,  ma'am ;  but,  be  sure,  and  she  is  no  company 
for  you,  ma'am." 

"  It  is  my  duty,  girl — I  must  see  her." 

"Well,  ma'am,  and  you  will  have  no  very  pleasant  sight — 
I  am  sure  not.  It  will  excite  your  pitiful  tears  to  see  sich 
a  sight." 

"  Bridget,  you  will  go  with  me?" 

"  Surely,  ma'am,  if  your  heart  is  set  on  it;  but,  dear,  it 
is  very  shocking  to  great  ladies  like  you,  ma'am,  to  visit 
such  places.     My  mother  is  poor  and  my  father  is 
Oh !    ma'am,    I   can't    say    the   word  —  it  sticks   in   my 
throat !" 

"Ah,  child !"  said  Mrs.  Fairmont,  "  I  have  been  in  very 
poor  places.  I  will  do  you  no  harm,  and  I  will  try  and 
benefit  you  all  I  can  ;  you  are  a  good  girl,  come  with 
me  ;"  and  followed  by  the  girl,  the  good  lady  bent  her 
steps  toward  Anthony  street.  They  entered  a  building  of. 
very  mean  appearance — a  grocery  was  kept  in  front — Brid 
get's  family  occupied  two  rooms  above — one  was  "to  let," 
the  other  was  occupied  by  the  father,  .mother,  and  four 
small  children.  The  back  room,  opening  on  a  little,  filthy 
alley,  was  used  for  various  purposes ;  a  brush-maker  worked 
in  one,  and  an  old  woman  was  doing  up  muslin  in  another; 
on  the  door  of  the  third  was  this  advertisement — "  Carpets 
shook  and  chimneys  cured  of  smoking — done  here." 

"  This  way,  please,"  said  Bridget,  leading  the  way  up  a 
tottering  pair  of  stairs,  worn  thin  by  hard  usage  and  heavy 


178  MBS.  BEN  DARBT. 

feet.  She  opened  the  door  at  the  head  of  the  hall,  and  Mrs. 
Fairmont  found  herself  in  the  presence  of  her  sister.  On 
a  very  low,  contracted  bed,  with  ordinary  and  unclean 
quilts,  sat  Mrs.  Ben  Darby.  She  had  changed  so  much 
that  her  sister  was,  for  a  moment  or  two,  uncertain  whether 
it  could  in  -reality  be  the  one  she  sought  or  not,  but  she 
soon  satisfied  herself  that  her  conjectures  were  right. 

"Jane  Fairmont!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Darby,  rolling  her 
self  from  the  foot  of  the  bedstead  and  seating  herself  up 
right.  "  Well,  really,  I  am  taken  by  surprise." 

"  I  felt  that  I  must  see  you  once  more,  Mary." 

"I  am  oppressed  by  your  condescension." 

"  You  need  not  be ;  I  have  come  from  good  motives — I 
believed  it  my  duty  to  do  so." 

"  Duty !  duty !  Oh !  yes,  you  and  duty  are  synony 
mous  ideas.  Dear  me!  Well,  Jane,  how  are  you  getting 
on  now?  Do  you  make  out  to  spend  your  money,  or  does 
it  rust  on  your  hands — or  does  the  Church  help  you  to 
lighten  the  pile?" 

"  Mary,  it  matters  not  what  you  say,  I  am  prepared  to 
bear  it  all.  I  have  done  wrong  in  not  seeking  you  before." 

"  Indeed  !  I  was  not  aware  of  it." 

"  I  felt  I  had  given  you  up  too  easily." 

"  I  never  complained  of  it,  Jane." 

"  I  have  come  to  see  if  I  can  in  any  way  help  you,  or 
add  to  your  comfort." 

"  Yes,  Jane,  of  course  you  can.  You  are  now  rich, 
and  I  am  poor.  If  you  have  any  money  on  your  hands,  I 
will  willingly  do  you  the  favor  to  use  it ;  but  if  you  have 
come  here  to  talk  about  religion  and  temperance,  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing,  why  I  will  not  spend  my  time  listening  to 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  179 

you,  for  I  am  giving  music  lessons,  and  have  all  my  time 
occupied." 

"  Mary,  if  you  need  money,  I  have  it  for  you  —  but  I 
must  once  more  try  and  save  you.  I  cannot  refrain  from 
making  one  more  effort  to  reform  you  —  to  draw  you  from 
your  old  ways." 

"Mrs.  Fairmont,"  said  the  lady,  drawing  herself  up  with 
great  dignity,  "  if  you  don't  like  my  ways,  you  can  let  me 
alone.  I  despise,  as  much  as  ever,  your  intolerable 
cant !" 

"  Call  it  what  you  please,  Mary  ;  it  has  been  my  com 
fort  and  stay,  and  made  me  happy  in  the  darkest  hour. 
What  is  a  woman  without  faith  and  hope  in  a  world  to 
come  ?" 

"  This  world  suits  me  very  well,  Jane,  if  I  had  my 
share  of  it  —  but  tell  me,  is  it  true  that  Fairmont  has 
reformed  ?" 

"  He  has  not  drank  a  drop  in  three  months." 

"Of  course,  I  had  reference  to  his  drinking.  Your  hus 
band  has  always  been  such  a  blunt,  low,  vulgar  individual, 
that  it  could  not  be  supposed  he  could  change  in  any  other 
way.  I  suppose  you  have  accomplished  the  mighty 
work  by  prayer  and  fasting  —  or,  perhaps,  by  moral 
suasion." 

"  Mary,"  said  Mrs.  Fairmont,  and  a  deep  shade  reddened 
her  cheek,  "  he  has  courageously  extricated  himself  — 
he  called  into  exertion  every  power  within  him,  and,  with 
the  assistance  of  his  God,  he  has  been  able  to  conquer  his 
foe  !" 

"  Ah!  I  suppose  he  has  become  pious  —  but  you  really 
do  not  mean  to  say  that  Fairmont  has  reformed  ?  Is  he  in 


180  MKS.  BEN  DARBY. 

earnest  ?  Is  he  religious?  You  have  lived  too  long,  Jane, 
to  be  duped  at  last." 

"  No,  Mary,  my  husband  is  no  hypocrite  ;  you  know 
very  well,  he  never  was  ;  he  may  return  to  his  old  habits, 
but  he  is  sincere  now.  He  is  not  a  professor  of  religion 
yet,  but  we  all  know  that  there  is  no  good  action  or  effort, 
which  man  may  make,  that  goes  unrewarded.  There  is 
no  good  thought,  breathed  in  silence  and  solitude,  that  goes 
unacknowledged  —  even  on  the  instant,  God  is  ever  ready 
to  assist  the  good  purposes  of  the  soul." 

"  Oh  yes,  you  have  preached  that  doctrine  so  long  that 
you  have  it  at  your  fingers'  ends.  How  do  you  know  all 
this,  pray,  even  if  it  was  true  ?" 

"  God  has  given  us  a  written  revelation —  He  has  given 
us  capacities  to  love,  and  tenderness  to  bestow.  He  has 
invited  us  to  converse  with  Him  in  prayer." 

"  Well,  go  on,"  said  Mrs.  Darby,  with  mock  solemnity. 

"  Prayer  is  the  soul's  sincere  desire, 

Uttered,  or  unexpressed; 
The  motion  of  a  hidden  fire, 
That  tremhles  hi  the  breast." 

"  Oh  !  plague  on  it  all,  Jane,"  cried  Mrs.  Darby,  furi 
ously,  "'  you  may  poke  such  nonsense  at  your  brothers  and 
sisters,  but  I  will  not  hear  one  word  more  —  I  will  not," — 
and  putting  a  finger  in  each  ear,  she  began  to  whistle  — 
"  The  Campbells  are  coming." 

Poor  Jane  sat  silent,  and  at  a  loss  how  to  proceed. 

"  Jane  Fairmont,"  said  Mrs.  Darby,  suddenly  dropping 
her  fino-ers  from  her  auricles,  "  I  never  could  see  how  a 

O 

woman  of  your  wonderful  sense,  could  be  so  easily  gulled. 
All  this  religious  fuss  is  sheer  nonsense  —  just  got  up  to 
frighten  folks  into  being  good." 


MRS.  BEN 'DARBY.  181 

"  Oh  !  Mary,  do  not  say  that  —  you  will  yet  see  your 
error,  when  it  is  too  late  !" 

"  Never  !  never  !  I  am  not  very  changeable  in  my  opin 
ions.  I  will  not  believe  in  God  !  I  never  did,  nor 
never  can  !'•' 

"  Mary,  if  you  could,  only  for  a  moment,  realize  the  sus 
taining  power  of  faith,  how  little  and  vain  would  appear  the 
temptations  which  now  beset  you  !  Sister,  let  me  plead 
with  you  —  do  not  treat  me  so  harshly.  Listen  with  pa 
tience,  but  for  a  moment.  Oh  !  Mary,  I  have  prayed  for 
you — " 

"  Had  you  not  enough  in  your  own  family  to  occupy  your 
faith  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Darby,  sneeringly.  "  As  to  your 
prayers,  I  do  not  thank  you  for  them.  I  despise  your 
canting  fuss.  I  desire  you  to  drop  it." 

"  I  must  speak,"  replied  Mrs.  Fairmont ;  "  I  came  for 
that  purpose.  You  never  will  hear  the  truth  but  from  me; 
no  one  else  dares  speak  to  you  on  the  subject.  I  tell  you, 
Mary,  you  are  destroying  soul  and  body  —  the  invincible 
spirit  of  crime  is  hovering  over  you  —  death  and  irretriev 
able  ruin  are  before  you  —  pause,  before  it  is  too  late — 
think,  while  reason  and  life  are  un quenched." 

"  I  will  not  hear  another  word,"  said  Mrs.  Darby,  rising, 
with  a  flushed  face,  and  trembling  with  excitement.  "  I 
would  not  give  the  snap  of  my  finger  for  all  the  religion  in 
the  world — it  is  all  hypocrisy." 

"  Well,  Mary,  take  all  religion  out  of  the  question — 
your  conduct  is  destructive  to  your  health,  your  character, 
your  peace  of  mind,  all  that  is  sacred  and  dear  to  the  heart 
of  woman.  You  will  sink  deeper  and  deeper,  until  you 


182  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

become  a  loathsome  burden  to  yourself,  and  a  stigma  on 
your  family." 

"  You  may  talk  now,  Mrs.  Fairmont,  but  the  time  has 
been,  when  you  did  not  hold  your  head  so  very  high  !" 

"  The  time  has  never  been,  Mary,  when  I  could  not  look 
the  pure  and  the  honest  in  the  face.  I  have  had  my  sor 
rows,  mortifications,  and  misfortunes — my  pride  has  been 
humbled,  my  best  feelings  abused  —  but  my  conscience, 
through  all,  has  remained  untarnished,  and,  although  tied 
to  the  fate  of  a  drunkard,  yet  still,  I  have  had  moments  of 
bliss,  and  hours  of  sweet  and  holy  inspiration,  which  the 
troubles  of  life  could  not  destroy  or  diminish." 

"  You  need  not  get  animated  !"  cried  Mrs.  Darby,  wildly 
throwing  up  her  arms;  "  I  despise  your  hypocrisy — I  loathe 
and  detest  your  sanctity.  It  is  none  of  your  business  if  I 
go  to  hell ! — I  will  go  on  my  own  expense^»-it  will  not  cost 
you  anything.  Don't  lay  'the  nattering  unction  to  your 
soul'  that  you  have  caused  me  one  regret,  or  been  instru 
mental  in  raising  one  penitential  thought — one  sigh  of 
remorse.  I  am  superior  to  your  vile  superstition  and  hum- 
buggery.  If  you  are  mistress  of  your  time,  I  am  not,"  con 
tinued  she,  pulling  on  a  pair  of  soiled  kid  gloves  ;  "  I  give 
music  lessons  to  the  Miss  Dumptons,  and  must  wish  you  a 
good  morning."  She  was  just  in  the  act  of  bowing  herself 
out  when  she  confronted  her  husband,  who  came  rushing 
in,  and  nearly  overthrew  her,  for  neither  of  the  pair  were 
very  stable. 

"  Our  passages  are  taken — come,  gather  up  your  trum 
pery,  and  let's  be  off" !" 

"  And  is  it  for  going  you  are  ?"  cried  the  landlady, 


4* 

MKS.  BEN  DARBY.  183 

springing  up  stairs,  looking  first  at  Darby  and  then  at  his 
wife;  and  without  paying  your  bill?  Well,  we  will  see 
which  is  the  fool.  And  you  call  yourselves  big-bugs,  hey  ! 
Now  let's  see  you  be  it,  and  pay  down  your  dues.  Not 
one  dud  leaves  this  premises  till  my  money  is  paid.  A 
pretty  piece  of  business,  to  give  the  best  room  and  the 
choice  of  everything  for  nothing  !  You  have  been  trouble 
enough  to  please,  not  to  mention  your  disorderly  manners 
and  unchristian  way  of  living.  Take  that,  will  you, 
ma'am  !" 

Mrs.  Fairmont  found  it  impossible  to  hold  any  more  con 
versation  with  her  sister,  and  despairing  of  doing  any  other 
good,  pulled  out  her  purse  and  paid  the  bills  ;  after  which, 
she  assisted  them  by  procuring  suitable  clothing  for  their 
journey,  and  begged  the  landlady  to  make  them  as  com 
fortable  as  possible  until  they  left. 

"  Comfortable  indade  !"  cried  the  landlady,  "and  how 
in  the  wide  world  would  you  think  to  make  her  comfortable 
unless  with  a  demijohn  of  the  cratur,  or  a  something 
stronger  than  water,  and — asking  your  pardon — snoring 
and  wallowing  like  brute  beasts  ?" 

The  story  he  had  invented  about  stabbing  his  friend  was 
all  a  romance,  got  up  for  the  occasion  to  force  money 
from  Fairmont.  It  is  true,  he  had  been  imprisoned  lately, 
frequently,  for  his  outrageous  conduct  in  the  streets  and 
public  places  of  resort. 


184  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 


ayter 


Death  is  a  fearful  thing.— ME ASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 

Six  or  seven  years  had  passed  since  the  reformation  of 
Mr.  Fairmont.  His  constitution  was  so  impaired  by  his 
long  course  of  reckless  dissipation,  that  he  fell  into  a  rapid 
decline,  and  was  soon  called  to  exchange  worlds. 

Endowed  with  a  vigorous  frame,  strong  intellect,  and 
naturally  a  lively,  good-natured  disposition,  he  might  have 
lived  longer,  and  proved  a  comfort  to  his  family  and  an  orna 
ment  to  society,  had  it  not  been  for  the  "  enchanted  cup." 
All  these  gifts  were  worn  out  in  the  servitude  of  a  master 
appetite,  in  slavery  and  in  chains,  not  only  suffering  himself, 
but  blighting  the  hopes  and  crushing  the  hearts  which  clung 
to  him  through  poverty,  want  and  degradation.  But  Death 
came  !  It  comes  to  all — the  mighty  and  the  weak,  the  sin 
ner  and  the  penitent,  the  willing  Christian  and  the  ready 
infant — yes,  it  came  to  the  reformed  drunkard,  and  as  he 
lay  calmly  watching  the  sun's  rays  filleting  the  canopy 
of  his  couch  with  golden  threads,  he  smiled  faintly  and 
turned  his  eyes  to  the  guardian  face  of  his  wife. 

"  My  wife,"  he  muttered,  and  tried  hard  to  grasp  her 
hand,  but  alas  !  his  was  weak  in  death. 

"  What  did  you  wish,  dear  husband  ?"  asked  Jane,  bend 
ing  her  cheek  to  his  in  order  to  catch  his  lowest  tone. 

"Wife  !"  he  repeated,  and  a  smile  of  indescribable  satis 
faction  passed  over  his  countenance. 


MRS.  BEN  DARBT.  186 

"  I  am  here  ;  did  I  ever  leave  you  ?" 

"  Never  !  never  !" 

"  Tell  me,  dear,  then,  what  you  wish." 

"  Wife  !"  he  repeated,  fixing  his  filmy  eyes  upon  her 
quivering  face,  "  wife  !  wife  !"  As  the  last  word  passed 
from  his  lips,  his  hand  relaxed  its  hold  upon  Jane's, 
and  a  slight  spasm  about  the  mouth  told  that  all  was 
over. 

"  Wife  !  wife  !"  the  sound  seemed  almost  to  linger  in  that 
still  apartment.  Wife  !  yes,  what  had  the  world  of  his 
gratitude — what  left  he  behind  but  that  one  faithful  heart — 
and  she  dared  not  mourn  his  loss  ;  yet  true  to  the  end,  she 
stood  alone  at  his  dying  pillow,  her  prayers  rising  like  holy 
incense  to  the  throne  of  the  Redeemer. 

As  the  last  breath  passed  away,  and  his  countenance  set 
tled  in  the  rigidity  of  death,  Mrs.  Fairmont  wiped  the 
clammy  drops  from  his  brow,  smoothed  down  the  motionless 
eyelids,  and  gazed  long  on  his  stiffening  features. 

Her  mind  was  carried  back,  in  despite  of  herself,  to  the 
days  of  her  childhood — the  days  of  early  love — the  bright, 
beautiful  morning  she  gathered  her  bridal  wreath,  and 
walked  with  a  light  step  and  trusting  heart  to  the  village 
church  ; — she  remembered  his  vows  of  devotion  to  her — 
the  fleeting  dream  of  the  honeymoon.  Then  came  long  and 
bitter  reminiscences,  like  a  train  of  funeral  specters — the 
many  weary  watches  of  the  night — her  footsteps  upon  his 
haunted  path,  his  staggering  way — his  horrid  excesses,  chil 
ling  curses — his  taunts,  his  selfishness  and  barbarity  to  his 
children — his  bartered  integrity — his  brutality  in  all  things 
— his  derision,  his  scorn  of  religion. 
16 


186  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

These  things  passed  through  her  mind  like  broken 
dreams,  but  how  insupportable  her  feelings  must  have 
been,  if  she  had  in  any  one  instance  spurned  him,  or 
added,  by  her  ill-temper  or  willfulness,  an  impetus  to 
his  reckless  course ;  but  now,  as  she  laid  her  hand  upon 
his  cold,  hard  brow,  and  viewed  the  ravages  of  death  in 
every  lineament  of  his  face,  no  remorse  or  self-accusation 
augmented  the  trials  of  the  moment.  She  had  the  con 
sciousness  of  having  performed  every  duty  connected  with 
her  married  life. 

She  could  recall  no  querulous  murmur,  no  bitter  invec 
tive — no  harsh,  or  unkind  repugnance  or  sentiment  of  deri 
sion — disgust,  or  anything  calculated  to  aggravate  his  feel 
ings.  Her  life  had  heretofore  been  a  chronicle  of  resignation, 
trust,  and  faith.  The  few  last  years,  her  husband  had  led 
a  very  different  life,  and  of  course  she  had  been  compara 
tively  happy,  and  felt,  now  that  death  had  separated 
them,  a  hope  of  meeting  him  in  a  better  and  a  brighter 
world. 

Oh!  if  it  was  not  for  that  faith  that  bears  the  Christian's 
hopes  beyond  the  clouds  and  vapors  of  this  world,  to  that 
serene  atmosphere,  where  not  a  doubt  or  fear  interposes 
between  him  and  his  God,  ah  !  dear  me !  how  dark 
would  this  life  be — how  aimless  and  inglorious  would 
be  the  best  performance,  if  man  had  no  hope  of  a  future 
life,  but  was  doomed  "to  fly  away  as  a  dream,  yea, 
chased  away  as  a  vision  of  the  night."  The  Christian 
says: 

"  Oh  !  that  my  words  were  now  written !  Oh  !  that  they 
were  printed  in  a  book !" 


MBS.  BEN  DARBY.  187 

"That  they  were  graven  with  an  iron  pen  and  lead,  in 
the  rock  forever !" 

"  For  I  know  that  my  Redeemer  liveth,  and  that  he 
shall  stand  at  the  latter  day  upon  the  earth." 

"  And  though  after  my  skin,  worms  destroy  this  body, 
yet,  in  my  flesh  shall  I  see  God!" 


188      *  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 


17. 


"  0  sir  !  to  willful  men 
The  injuries  that  they  themselves  procure 
Must  be  their  schoolmasters." 

EUNOR  TEMPLE  and  Kate  Fairmont  had  finished  their 
education  in  the  far-famed  Troy  Seminary.  They  were 
both  interesting,  and  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  award 
the  palm  of  beauty  to  either. 

Kate  was  fair  and  delicate,  her  figure  slight,  auburn 
hair  and  blue  eyes  ;  sweet  gentle  eyes,  like  a  child's,  guile 
less,  but  loving.  She  was  sensitive  to  acuteness,  shrink 
ing,  trusting,  unsuspicious  ;  holding  on  to  all  the  beautiful 
and  bright  things  in  life  —  dreading,  shunning  the  harsh 
ness  and  asperities  of  nature.  Like  her  mother,  she  had 
given  her  heart  to  the  gentle  teachings  of  the  Holy  Spirit, 
and  was  meekly  learning  of  Mary's  master,  choosing  that 
better  part,  which  could  not  be  taken  from  her.  She  had, 
like  most  young  persons,  a  good  deal  of  romance  in  her 
disposition,  at  least  enough  to  make  her  enthusiastic. 

Elinor  Temple  had  fulfilled  the  ardent  desires  of  her 
father,  at  least  he  felt  proud  and  well  satisfied  with  her 
improvements 

I  shall  not  endeavor  to  describe  her  in  the  parlance  of 
the  novelist,  for  I  am  not  writing  fiction,  but  speak  the 
words  of  truth  and  soberness.  She  had  still  her  glossy 
black  hair,  her  dark,  pensive  eyes.  When  she  laughed, 
she  displayed  a  brilliant  set  of  teeth,  but  she  never 
laughed  for  that  purpose.  Her  education  was  more 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  %      189 

thorough,  and  perhaps  more  substantial,  titan  young  ladies 

l^^.'tJff'i/L/  T , 

generally  have  a  predilection  for.  Her  mind,  under  such 
discipline,  had  become  steady  in  its  researches,  and  de 
cided  in  its  purposes. 

She  was  almost  too  silent  and  quiet  for  one  of  her  years, 
but  sobriety  is  very  beautiful  when  adorned  with  youth 
and  beauty,  and  I  may  add,  wealth. 

The  youiur  ladies,  as  I  have  already  said,  had  finished 
their  education.  They  are  now  presented  to  the  reader, 
on  the  splendid  steam-packet  the  New  World,  gliding  down 
the  placid  waters  of  the  Hudson,  to  their  friends  and 
home. 

Many  events  had  transpired  since  they  had  left  the  city. 
Within  their  family,  Mr.  Fairmont  had  died,  and  Elinor's 
grandfather  had  passed  away,  and  was  sleeping  among 
his  native  hills. 

"  But  the  strangest  of  all,"  said  Kate,  "  is  that  your 
aunt  Paulina  is  married — everybody  set  her  down  as  an 
old  maid." 

"  She  has  married,  my  papa  writes  me,"  replied  Elinor, 
"a  splendid  looking  man,  and  one  of  rare  talents — but  see, 
Kate,  we  are  at  West  Point;"  and  as  Elinor  spoke,  she 
placed  her  arm  in  her  cousin's,  and  they  walked  out  to 
where  Mrs.  Fairmont  sat,  viewing  the  scenery.  The  boat 
had  stopped  to  take  in  passengers,  and  among  the  crowd, 
were  several  remarkable  young  gentlemen  ;  and  as  they 
passed  into  the  boat,  they  were  hailed  by  some  friends  on 
board,  who  seemed  very  joyful  at  their  arrival.  One  of 
the  passengers  who  was  taken  in  at  West  Point,  seemed  to 
be  quite  ill ;  he  leaned  on  the  arm  of  a  very  tall,  strong, 
independent-looking  man,  whom  Elinor  felt  certain  she  had 


190  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

seen  before,  but  when,  or  where,  she  could  not  say.  The 
sick  young  gentleman  elicited  much  attention,  and  much 
sympathy.  They  laid  him  on  a  settee  under  the  awning, 
and  his  companions  gathered  around. 

"  Poor  dear  soul,"  said  an  old  lady  on  board,  "  perhaps 
he  has  the  cholery." 

"  How  do  you  get  on  with  your  patient,  Doc.  ?"  asked 
a  young  gentleman,  who  had  just  joined  the  group  ;  "  do 
you  make  any  progress  in  the  restoration  of  his  faculties  ?" 
He  addressed  himself  to  the  tall  assistant  of  the  sick  man. 

"  No,  you  undo  my  work  as  fast  as  I  perform  it.  He  was 
much  better  last  week,  until  you  got  him  off." 

"  Do  you  hear  that,  Clarence  ?"  and  there  was  loud 
laughing  among  them." 

"You  are  very  welcome  to  make  merry  at  my  expense," 
replied  the  tall  gentleman,  "  but  humanity  forbids  you  to 
mock  such  a  case  as  that,"  and  he  pointed  to  the  prostrate 
youth,  who  seemed  regardless  of  all  around  him. 

The  bystanders  were  amazed  at  the  heartless  levity  of 
the  young  gentlemen,  who  could  find  it  in  their  hearts  to 
laugh  at  a  poor  sick  fellow-creature  ;  but  when  they  found 
out  that  he  was  drunk,  and  had  been  so  for  days,  pity  gave 
way  to  contempt,  and  they  walked  off,  one  by  one,  and  left 
him  to  the  care  of  a  solitary  friend. 

Yes,  young  and  delicate  as  he  looked,  that  youth  had 
been  drunk  for  days.  His  friend  was  trying  to  sober  him, 
before  they  reached  the  city,  as  he  was  expected  there  by 
his  mother,  who  had  sent  for  him  to  visit  his  twin-sister,  who 
was  dying  of  consumption.  His  friend  had  stopped  with 
him  the  day  before,  in  the  neighborhood  of  West  Point,  to 
endeavor  to  sober  him  ;  for  ever  while  under  the  influence 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  191 

of  ardent  spirits,  he  was  subject  to  convulsions  which  were 
horrible  to  witness.  Notwithstanding  all  the  aggravation 
of  the  case,  there  were  several  young  men  on  board  who 
had  used  every  exertion  to  have  him  drink,  just  as  soon  as 
he  began  to  recover  from  the  vile  condition  into  which  he 
was  plunged.  Poor  boy  !  and  a  widow's  son  ! 

The  boat  touched  the  pier  at  the  foot  of  Courtlandt ; 
all  was  hurry  and  confusion  ;  the  passengers  going  out — 
visitors  coming  in,  seeking  friends,  and  passing  out  again  ; 
the  gathering  of  baggage — the  blusterings  of  the  chamber 
maid  ;  the  porters  after  checks  ;  drummers  for  the  hotels, 
screaming  forth  the  praises  of  the  various  establishments  ; 
the  hack-drivers  and  the  cabmen  storming  and  cracking 
their  whips  ;  sticking  them  up  in  the  faces  of  the  passengers 
with  such  hearty  ferocity,  that  one  unaccustomed  to  such 
scenes  would  momentarily  suppose  that  the  city  was  in  gen 
eral  revolt,  and  had  passed  an  ordinance  that  no  strangers 
should  effect  disembarkation  on  the  island. 

"  Tenth  street,"  said  Mrs.  Fairmont,  as  they  seated  them 
selves  in  the  hack. 

"  Tenth  street!"  shouted  the  porter  to  the  driver,  as  he 
closed  the  carriage  door. 

"  Tenth  street !"  repeated  one  of  the  young  gentlemen, 
from  the  side  of  the  packet,  "  I  could  have  sworn  it." 

"So  could  I — what  is  it  ?"  asked  one  of  his  companions. 

"  That  those  folks  lived  in  Tenth  street." 

"  May  I  ask  why  ?" 

"  They  are  the  Temples — the  very  people  my  uncle  has 
sent  me  to  visit." 

"  You  were  always  a  lucky  dog,  Clarence." 

"  I  tell  you  those  girls  are  sum;  I  wish  it  was  my  uncle's 


192  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

nephew,  instead  of  you,  that  makes  their  acquaintance. 
Pray,  be  liberal;  don't  fall  in  love  with  both." 

A  gmile  of  ineffable  contempt  crossed  the  features  of  the 
tall  protector  of  the  sick  youth,  when  he  heard  this  little 
episode,  as  he  was  placing  his  charge  in  the  care  of  those 
•who  had  been  sent  to  convey  him  home. 

"  Tenth  street,"  he  repeated,  mentally,  and  walked  ra 
pidly  up  Courtlandt,  and  was  soon  lost  in  the  mighty  crowd 
that  waves  down  the  great  thoroughfare. 


MRS,    BEN    DARBY, 


PART     II. 


Here  we  are  mot,  three  merry  boys, 

Three  merry  boys,  I  trow  are  we; 
And  monie  a  night  we've  merry  been, 

And  monie  mae  we  hope  to  be.  —  BURNS. 

IT  was  a  dark,  wintery  night.  The  gas-lights  shone  dimly 
through  the  dark  fog  which  filled  the  atmosphere  ;  a  damp, 
chilly  air  came  from  the  bay,  that  gave  a  charm  to  warm 
rooms  and  crowded  assemblies.  A  gentleman,  enveloped 
partially  in  a  cloak  of  the  most  modern  fabrication  and  ap 
proved  style,  paused  at  the  corner  of  Barclay  street,  to  read, 
by  the  rays  of  a  lamp,  a  card  which  he  had  drawn  from  his 
pocket. 

The  light  falling  on  his  upraised  face,  revealed  an  intel 
lectual  physiognomy.  Genius,  wit,  classical  lore,  and 
boundless  aspirations  were  expressed  in  his  'candid  coun 
tenance.  The  eccentric  luster  of  his  dark  eyes  was  set  off 
by  a  decidedly  fashionable  moustache.  His  dress  and 
movements  were  of  that  peculiar  and  not-to-be-mistaken 
character,  which  city  life  always  bestows  upon  the  wealthy 
and  refined.  All  who  were  acquainted  with  the  different 
phases  of  New  York  population,  could  have  felt  no  hesita 

tion  in  pronouncing  him  a  star  of  the  upper  firmament. 
17"  (193) 


194  MRS.  BEN  DAUBY. 

"  Ah !  tenth  street,"  he  said,  and  replaced  the  card  in 
his  pocket,  then  drawing  his  cloak  more  closely  around 
him,  watched  intently  the  omnibuses  which  passed  in 
quick  succession  up  and  down  Broadway. 

"Are  you  lost,  Duval?"  said  a  familiar  voice,  while  a 
rather  abrupt  hand  pulled  him  by  the  folds  of  his  cloak ; 
"  Or  are  you  deliberating  which  of  the  two  to  choose  — 
Niblo's  or  the  opera  ?" 

"Watching  for  an  omnibus  to  Tenth-street;  but  when 
did  you  return  from  Brooklyn?" 

"  About  an  hour  ago,  and  I  have  been  searching  for 
you  ever  since;  but  say,  old  crony,  what  draws  you 
to  Tenth-street?  Very  urgent  business ?  I  hope  it  admits 
of  postponement  on  account  of  weather,  for  we  must 
have  you  to-night — we  cannot  possibly  get  along  without 
you." 

"What,  not  if  you  have  Morgan  and  Sandford  and 
Symes?" 

"  No,  it  will  be  no  go  without  you.  Who  will  sing 
for  us  ?" 

"  It  will  be  impossible  for  me  to  be  with  you  to-night. 
There  are  four  or  five  of  our  old  set  in  the  city ;  let  some 
one  of  them  make  up  your  number." 

"  Oh !  it  is  not  numbers — we  are  not  deficient  in  that 
respect — but  spirit,  Duval,  such  as  poor  Yorick's.  Sand- 
ford  is  a  lackadaisical  devil,  only  half-witted  at  best,  and 
Symes  is  a  would-be  humorist  as  flat  and  pointless  as  sour 
champagne — so  you  see,  we  cannot  do  without  you." 

"  Not  to-night — my  friends  will  expect  me." 

"  Yes,  to-night,  by  all  that  is  glorious !" 

"  '  Business  before  pleasure'  was  my  father's  maxim — I 


MRS.  BEN  DABBF.  196 

have  some  very  important  business  to  look  after — affairs 
that  must  be  attended  to."  C^^r^ 

"  That  was  a  motto  concocted  for  the  benefit  'of  the  last  £j%- 
generation ;  in  these  progressive  times  we  discard  all  such 
musty  references  and  go  a-head  on  our  own  hook.     So  come 
along,  to-morrow  will  do  just  as  well." 

"  To-morrow  will  be  Sunday." 

"So  much  the  better,  you  will  have  a  whole  day  to 
recruit  and  repair  damages  in." 

"  Quite  impossible,  Herman,  my  friends  must  be  attend 
ed  to." 

"  No  backing  out,  Clarence ;  our  old  hearties  will  expect 
you — we  have  lots  of  arrangements.  Come,  there  is  no 
getting  off." 

"Excuse  me,  Herman,"  said  Duval,  coolly;  "my  affairs 
are  imperious." 

"Ah,  pardon  me!  I  recollect  now — it  is  a  Tenth-street 
omnibus  you  are  waiting  for.  No  doubt,  those  blue  eyes 
are  very  imperious.  I  suppose,  if  there  is  a  woman  in  the 
opposition  I  shall  have  to  surrender,  hey?" 

"No,  no,  there  is  no  lady  in  the  case ;  but  to  be  true  and 
candid  with  you,  Herman,  I  must  begin  to  discipline  myself 
more  to  business — my  natural  disposition  for  excitment;  my 
propensities  for  mirth  and  hilarity  are  getting  almost  too 
strong  to  master.  I  have  been  a  sad  truant  lately,  if  I  do 
not  now  begin  to  struggle  I  shall " 

"  'Fall  like  Lucifer,  never  to  rise  again,'  "  added  his  com 
panion.  "  Oh,  nonsense  !  come  along  then  to  my  room, 
we  will  talk  it  all  over.  If  you  cannot  spend  the  even 
ing  you  can  warm  yourself,  for  it  is  very  cold  chatting 
here  —  hang  it  all,  come  along,  it  is  but  a  square  or 


196  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

two.  You  need  more  coaxing  than  a  young  girl  would  to 
marry." 

"  Well,  well,  as  you  insist  so  earnestly  there  is  no  refrain 
ing.  It  is  indeed  very  chilly  here,  but  I  have  only  a  very 
few  minutes  to  spare." 

A  smile  of  sinister  raillery  glided  over  the  dark  counte 
nance  of  Herman  Frazier  when  he  found  his  companion  so 
easily  duped.  So  looks  the  stealthy  fowler,  when  he  finds 
his  unconscious  prey  cunningly  enticed  within  the  meshes 
of  his  fillet. 

They  entered  the  hotel ;  Frazier  insisted  on  his  friend 
taking  something  to  drink,  as  they  had  been  standing  out 
so  long  in  the  evening's  damp.  The  office  was  filled  with 
loungers,  and  the  street  musicians  were  performing  in  con 
cert  with  remuneration  in  prospective.  Duval  looked 
around  at  the  motley  groups,  as  if  not  heeding  his  com 
panion.  The  latter  seeing  his  hesitation,  said: 

"  One  glass,  Clarence,  by  way  of  preventive." 

Fearing  one  look  of  ridicule,  he  took  the  glass  of  brandy, 
drank  it,  and  followed  his  companion  to  his  room — the  door 
was  closed,  and  they  cozily  seated  themselves  before  a 
good  fire. 

"  Only  see  how  comfortable  I  can  make  you — not  quite 

so  magnificent  as  B ,  but  soyez  tranquille,  and  do  not 

suppose  your  friends  will  stand  by  and  see  you  bury  your 
self,  like  an  old,  imbecile  miser,  among  the  gifts  which 
nature  and  fortune  have  bestowed  upon  you,  when  they 
;an  make  you  a  leading  spirit  in  society.  It  is  time  enough 
x>  preach  temperance  and  abstinence,  when  old  age  gets  a 
lease  on  you  or  death  comes  with  a  habeas  corpus. 

"One  thing  is  decided,"  said  Clarence,  stretching  his 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  197 

feet  upon  the  fender,  and  folding  his  arms  on  his  bosom, 
looking  as  imperturbable  as  Napoleon  himself;  "you  must 
not  expect  me  to  engage  in  all  the  sports  your  imagination 
can  suggest — it  will  not  do — I  must  look  to  the  future." 

"  Now  you  are  patronizing  Theodore  Harper ;  he  does 
well  as  an  original,  but  any  imitation  of  him  will  be  puerile 
and  flat." 

"Not  at  all,"  rejoined  Clarence;  "I  admire  him  much, 
but  I  feel  no  desire  to  pattern  by  any  one ;  but  I  know  that 
there  is  a  great  deal  expected  of  me.  You  recollect  I  am 
the  only  remaining  male  of  a  very  old  family." 

"The  last  planting  of  an  aristocratical  tribe!"  exclaimed 
Frazier,  with  a  malicious  smile.  "  Well,  I  can't  lose  much 
caste  by  my  profligacy — my  father  was  one  of  the  demo 
cracy — one  of  the  people." 

"  I  am  just  entering  into  business,"  continued  Clarence; 
"  and  my"  friends  are  steady,  sober  Quakers.  Any  careless 
ness,  on  my  part,  will  not  only  be  displeasing,  but  will 
eventually  deprive  me  of  fortune.  I  hold  no  claim  on  my 
uncle's  property — I  am  only  an  adopted  child — I  dare  not 
disappoint  him — it  would  be  ruinous  to  me." 

"  Why  need  you  ?  Can  you  not  enjoy  life  without  making 
shipwreck  ?" 

"  My  natural  love  for  stimulants,"  replied  Clarence,  leads 
me,  (I  well  know  it),  to  dissipation  ;  I  have  struggled 
against  it ;  if  I  give  ground  at  onet  point  a  floodgate 
opens  upon  me  with  irresistible  force." 

"  I  swear,  cried  Frazier,  you  were  made  for  your  friends — 
that  you  are  the  very  soul  of  conviviality  ;  all  that  is  jovial 
and  witty.  Clarence,  we  will  not  give  you  up  without  a 
struggle." 


198  MRS.  BEN  DAKBT. 

"  Listen,  Herman;  my-course  at  college,  this  last  year,  has 
left  me  many  regrets — I  may  say  poignant  remorse." 

"  In  what  respect  do  you  find  yourself  a  subject  of 
remorse  ?"  asked  his  friend  ;  "  I  am  very  sure  you  never 
kept  bad  company." 

"  Our  habits  were  bad,"  replied  Clarence;  "  decidedly 
so  ;  and  you  must  feel  it  was  improper." 

"  How  could  that  be  ?"  inquired  Herman,  "  I  am  certain 
our  club  was  composed  of  first-rate  spirits  ;  minds  of  bright 
and  transcendent  aspirations — the  very  cream  of  human 
nature — none  of  your  mongrel  breed — none  of  your  dregs 
from  the  reservoir  of  society;  you  must  own  that  for  genius, 
intelligence  and  refinement,  they  could  not  be  surpassed." 

"  I  know  all  that,  but " 

"  No  buts  in  the  case,  Clarence,"  cried  Frazier,  "  while 
we  are  confined  to  the  fellowship  and  sociability  of  such 
companions,  who  can  find  fault  ?  What  harm  can  result 
from  frequently  meeting — taking  a  few  glasses,  and  singing 
a  few  songs  ?" 

"But  it  does  not  end  there,"  exclaimed  Duval;  "no, 
that  is  the  first  step  ;  by  degrees  we  lose  our  refinement 
and  taste,  and  become  willing  to  herd  with  the  doubtful — 
the  low,  and  finally,  the  depraved.  We  have  taken  the 
first  steps — let  us  pause — reflect ;  a  few  more  will  lead 
us  to  irretrievable  ruin — endless  perdition;  is  it  not  easier 
to  retrace  this  one  degree  than  to  wade  back  upon  a  sea  of 
transgressions,  or  sink  deeper  and  deeper  into  a  pool  of  pol 
lution,  whose  rank. and  fetid  surface  is  enough  to  contami 
nate  a  universe?" 

"Go  on  brother,"  cried  Frazier,  waving  his  hand  with 
mock  gravity. 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  199. 

"  Sacrificing  our  all,  and  not  only  that,  but  drawing  with 
us  others,  who,  but  for  us,  might  have  been  innocent  and 
happy." 

"  Huzza  for  temperance,"  cried  Frazier,  springing  to  his 
feet ;  "  you  arc  getting  up  opposition  to  Father  Mathew — 
you  are  an  aspiring  dog." 

Just  then  a  noise  was  heard  in  the  hall. 

"  I  did  not  know  you  expected  company  here,"  said 
Clarence,  reproachfully." 

"  They  sometimes  come  without  being  expected  ;  how 
ever,  I  will  be  candid,  you  are  caught — fairly  caught, 
and " 

"  I  cannot  stay,"  said  Clarence,  buttoning  up  his  coat. 

The  door  opened,  and  as  the  visitor  entered  Duval  tried 
to  escape,  and  found  himself  in  the  arms  of  his  old  asso 
ciates. 

"  By  all  that  is  sacred  I  hold  you  fast,"  said  his  friend. 

"  You  shall  not  escape,"  said  another. 


200  MKS.  BEN  DARBY. 


Ctjnpttr  19. 


Thou  strik'st  the  dull  peasant,  he  sinks  in  the  dark, 

Nor  sayofi  e'en  the  wreck  of  a  name ; 
Thou  strik'st  the  young  hero — a  glorious  mark ! 

He  falls  in  the  blaze  of  his  fame. — BURNS. 

OTHER  gentlemen  came  in,  until  the  room  was  pretty 
well  filled  ;  Clarence  was  introduced  to  new  associates,  ca 
ressed  and  flattered  until  his  new-fledged  regrets  and  good 
resolutions  began  to  vanish  like  wax  before  the  sun,  until 
they  were  all  dissolved.  He  caught  the  contagion  of  mirth 
and  gayety  from  those  who  surrounded  him. 

What  a  common  tableau  is  here  presented  to  the  reader — 
an  episode  in  the  life  of  almost  every  young  man — yet  how 
many  have  fallen  victims,  willing  victims  to  intemperance, 
by  the  temptations  offered  in  social  wit,  talents,  hilarity  and 
wine  ! 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Duval,"  said  a  third,  "  very  glad 
to  see  you,  'pon  my  soul  I  am." 

"  Gentlemen,  one  and  all,"  cried  Frazier,  as  he  handed 
them  chairs,  "  Mr.  Clarence  Duval  has  come  to  the  deter 
mination  to  relinquish  the  felicity  of  life,  and  join  the  tem 
perance  society." 

"  The  devil  you  have,"  said  young  Symes,  turning  to 
Duval,  "I  thought  you  were  a  man  of  more  refined  taste  ; 
that  your  enjoyment  of  the  good  things  of  this  life  was  too 
exqxiisite  to  permit  you  to  patronize  a  humbug " 


MRS.  BEN  DAKBY.  201 

"  And  forget  the  pleasures  of  a  glorious  hot  punch,  or  a 
bottle  of  champagne,"  added  Frazier — "for  Heaven's  sake, 
pause,  sir." 

"  Are  you  going  to  the  Tabernacle  to  hear  that  old  rip 
propound  the  constitution  of  the  Order — to  flourish  his  ana 
thema  against  the  vicious  qualities  of  liquor.  I  swear  it  is  all 
gammon;  I  never  heed  a  word  they  say — it  is  all  in  my  eye!" 

"  They  generally  put  down  a  half  pint  of  liquor  before 
they  begin,  in  order  to  engender  luminous  ideas,  so  they 
may  make  a  bully  speech,  and  so  soon  as  they  lie  themselves 
dry  they  take  a  little  for  the  sake  of  digestion  ;  yes,  gentle 
men,  all  temperance  preachers  have  the  dyspepsia. 

"That is  a  fact,"  cried  Symes;  "they  talk  very  solemnly 
to  you  scapegraces,  you  gulpers,  you  rum-jug  stoppers,  you 
sponges  of  alcohol,  about  meddling  with  ardent  spirits  at  all ; 
but  they  are  the  greatest  set  of  villains  outside  of  purgatory." 

"  Put  one  of  them  in  a  dark  corner,"  said  Frazier,  where 
the  odoriferous  fumes  of  a  prime  flask  of  good  old  peach 
strikes  the  olfactories,  and  they  will  scent  it  out  like  a  dog 
after  quails,  and  if  they  find  it  out  I  pity  the  man  what 
drinks  after  them  ;  and  as  for  Dr.  D " 

"  Oh,  heavens  !  is  that  old  rip  going  to  lecture  ?  Why, 
he  would  drink  as  soon  as  I  would,  and  you  all  know  that  I 
am  not  backward  when  it  comes  to  the  pint." 

"  Never — never  !"  cried  several  voices. 

"  For  my  part,"  said  a  demure-looking  man,  with  his 
eyes  raised  in  hypocritical  modesty,  "  I  can't  see  how  an 
ardent  young  spirit  can  give  up  all  the  bright  things  of  life 
and  settle  down  with  the  thoughts  and  feelings  of  musty 
oid  age — at  twenty-two,  ay,  sometimes  sooner.  But  say, 
Duval,  what  has  convicted  you  ?" 


202  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

"Remorse — remorse!"  said  Frazier ;  "does  he  not  re 
present  a  victim  of  vicious  habits  ?  Does  he  not  look  like 
the  '  haunted  man,'  with  his  brow  of  stern  pride,  and  a 
thousand  devils  winking  about  the  corners  of  his  mouth  and 
eyes,  and  his  sonorous  voice,  like  the  chime  of  a  Christmas 
bell,  merry  and  full  as  a  Bohemian  organ  grinder's " 

"  And  wit  like  a  bowie-knife,"  added  Symes,  "  and  rich 
relations  old  enough  to  die." 

"But  Clarence  has  a  conscience,"  exclaimed  Frazier. 

"  The  devil  he  has  !"  cried  Finner ;  "  let  him  use  it, 
and  he  will  soon  find  it  as  pliant  and  giving  as  an  old 
rubber  shoe.  Ah!  that's  right,  Herman,  hurry  up  the 
cakes  !"  The  servant  enters  with  glasses,  champagne 
basket,  &c.,  &c. 

Clarence  Duval,  dreading  the  ridicule  of  his  friends,  and 
yielding  himself  a  willing  victim  to  the  temptations  besetting 
him,  at  last  threw  aside  his  cloak,  and  declared  they  were 
too  many  for  him — that  it  was  useless  to  contend  ;  and 
sinking  gracefully  back  in  his  chair,  said — 

"  Have  it  as  you  will,  boys  ;  but  this  is  the  last  time." 

"  Positively  the  last  time  !"  cried  one. 

"  Mr.  Duval's  last  evening  !"  cried  a  second, 
^i'  The  last  evening  of  Duval's  benefit  !"  said  Symes. 

"  Clarence  Duval  appears  upon  the  boards  positively  for 
the  last  time  !"  exclaimed  Sandford. 

The  last  time  ! 

How  often  has  that  word  leaped  from  the  lips  of  the  evil 
doer.  The  last  time  !  Oh,  yes,  the  last  time  !  says  the 
poor  deluded  victim  of  the  bowl,  as  he  rises  in  the  morning 
with  throbbing  temples,  dizzy  brain  and  parched  lips,  his 
feverish  pulse,  trembling  limbs,  his  disordered  mind  grasp. 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  203 

ing  at  the  shadows  of  embryo  thoughts,  that  flit  so  rapidly 
and  mysteriously  through  his  head  !  Yes,  this  is  the  last 
time  !  But  when  night  has  wrapped  her  mantle  around  a 
sleeping  world,  the  steaming  liquor  is  before  him,  and 
with  the  same  pliancy  hfe  yields  himself  up  to  the  same 
insatiable  thirst,  and  grasps  with  avidity  the  "  poisoned 
chalice." 

"  Oh,  I  have  said  that,  Clarence,  a  thousand  times,"  said 
Sandford,  "myself;  but  I  am  getting  on  bravely  now  !" 

Sandford  was  a  very  young  looking  man,  (if  man  he 
might  be  called).  His  complexion  was  fair  and  girlish,  soft 
blue  eyes,  with  finely-chiseled  features,  which  bespoke  the 
sentimentalist,  the  poet  or  the  lover,  rather  than  the 
debauchee. 

"  Temperance  has  to  knock  under  to  such  arguments  as 
these,"  said  Frazier,  pointing  to  the  table  on  which  the 
punch  was  being  compounded. 

All  was  now  confusion.  The  many  voices  mingled  with 
the  sharp  popping  of  the  champagne  bottles,  the  rattling  of 
spoons  and  oyster-shells.  They  drew  their  chairs  to  the 
circular  table,  and  recklessly  seized  the  flowing  cup.  The 
wild  laugh,  the  pithy  anecdote,  the  harmless  jest,  the  pi 
quant  jeu  d' esprit  passed  round  with  the  first  libations  ;  but 
every  cup  increased  the  hilarity,  and  _  brought  up  the 
coarser  emotions  of  the  heart  and  the  most  glaring  absurdi 
ties  of  the  brain. 

"  By  heavens  !  I  abjure  thee,  temperance  !"  exclaimed 
Symes,  holding  the  goblet  to  the  light ;  "  how,  in  the  name 
of  Bacchus  himself,  could  you  think,  Duval,  of  closing 
your  lips  upon  such  nectar  as  this — drink  fit  for  Jove 
himself  1" 


204  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

"  I  acknowledge  it  is  delicious,"  said  Duval,  upon  whom 
it  was  beginning  to  have  its  effect ;  "but  if  it  had  not  been 
for  your  company  I  should  have  gone  home  or  to  the 
Tabernacle,  and  perhaps " 

"And  perhaps,"  interrupted  Frazier,  "heard  us  thrashed 
like  the  devil  !" 

"  Temperance  will  come  in  good  play  when  a  man  gets 
married  and  settles  down  with  a  family — that  is,  if  one 
prefers  it,"  said  Sandford. 

"I,  for  one,  swear  independence.  Come,  Clarence,  down 
with  that  glass  and  fill  a  bumper,"  said  Symes,  "and 
give  us  one  of  your  old  songs.  Come,  cheer  up  !  you  look 
like  you  had  been  sold  to  pay  taxes." 

"  Yes,  Clarence,  remember  it  is  your  last  night,"  said 
Herman. 

"  Positively  the  last !"  repeated  Symes  ;  "  here's  to  you 
— fire  away  and  give  us  your  '  Hip  !  Hip  !  hurra  !'  " 

Clarence  braced  himself  up  by  the  arms  of  his  chair;  his 
dark  curly  hair  stood  out  from  his  brow ;  his  deep,  mysteri 
ous  eyes,  full  of  thought  and  sensualism,  flashed  with  fire 
"  like  sparks  from  smitten  steel."  In  his  right  hand  he 
held  a  glass  of  wine,  and  the  other,  firmly  closed,  rested  on 
the  table  :  -.-.  ^  r. 

Come  send  round  a  bumper  up  to  the  brim, 
He  who  shrinks  from  a  bumper  I  drink  not  to  him ! 
Here's  to  the  girl  that  each  loves,  be  her  eye  of  what  hue 
Or  lustre  it  may.  so  the  heart  is  but  true ! 

Charge !  hip !  hip  I  hurra  I 

They  all  drink,  and  Clarence  sings  on  : 

Come,  charge  high  again,  boys!  now  let  the  full  wine 
Leave  space  in  the  brimmer  where  daylight  may  shine! 
Here's  the  friends  of  our  youth,  though  of  some  we're  bereft, 
May  the  links  that  are  lost  but  endear  what  is  left! 

Charge!  hip!  hipl  hurra! 


MRS.  BEN  DARBT.  206 

Come,  once  more  a  bumper,  then  drink  as  you  please  1 
For  who  could  fill  half-way  to  toasts  such  as  these  ? 
Here's  our  next  joj'ous  meeting — may  the  weather  be  clear  I 
May  our  hearts  be  as  bright,  and  may  Clarence  be  there  I 
Charge!  hip!  hip!  hurra! 

They  all  drink  as  the  song  is  finished,  and  the  pale-faced 
youth,  proposes  a  bumper  to  Tom  Moore,  author  of  the 
song  just  sung. 

"  Oh !  hang  it  all !"  cried  Frazier,  as  they  emptied  their 
glasses  ;  "  this  is  too  classical  for  me.  I  will  give  you 
something  more  natural  or  Christy-cal :" 

"  Oh  I  when  I  am  dead  and  gone  to  rest, 

Lay  the  bottle  by  my  side ; 
Let  revelers  gay  to  my  funeral  come, 
For  with  them  I  have  lived  and  diedl 

In  some  deep  gutter  I'll  lay  me  down, 

And  dream  forever  more, 
That  I  am  drunk  as  a  loon,  in  an  old  bar-room, 

With  plenty  of  liquor  in  store  !" 

The  loud  cheers  which  followed  were  interrupted  by  a 
mysterious  rap  at  the  door. 

"Is  that  you,  Doctor  ?"  exclaimed  Frazier,  as  he  unlocked 
the  door,  and  let  in  a  man  of  fine  appearance.  "  Why, 
you  come  with  a  face  as  grave  as  Banquo's  ghost.  Come, 
here  's  a  seat." 

"  Not  for  me  ;  you  know  I  never  drink,"  said  the  stran 
ger,  looking  around  the  table. 

"  We  are  a  godly  set,  Doc,  and  it  is  no  use  to  preach — 
hie! — to  hus! — now,  so  evacuate  the  premises,  if  you  please, 
and  do-n't  be  for  lec-turing  hus,  now!" 

"  I  did  not  come  to  lecture — it  does  no  good." 

"  No — come  take  a  glass  with  us,  Doc — it  will  be  bene- 


206  MKS.  BEN  DARBY. 

ficial  to  the  coats  of  your  stomach.  Here  is  the  cham 
pagne,  Doc — and  here  are  the  oysters,  the  vinegar  and  the 
hot  punch." 

"  You  had  just  as  well  sing  psalms  to  a  dead  horse,  as 
to  place  temptations  in  his  way.  I  tell  you,  Symes,  he  never 
drinks — never !" 

"  Never  drinks  !"  replied  Symes  ;  "  then  put  him  out  — 
out  with  him,  he  has  no  business  here  !" 

"  No  !  he  shall  have  his  say.  Hurrah  for  our  chaplain  ! 
blaze  away,  Doctor  —  never  mind  them!  Frazier,  can't 
we  make  him  up  a  pulpit — pro  tern.?" 

"  Excuse  me,  gentlemen,"  said  the  new  comer,  waving 
his  hand  ;  "I  have  come  on  business.  Is  there  a  young 
man  here  by  the  name  of  Sandford  ?"  and  he  looked  anx 
iously  from  face  to  face. 

"I  am  the  man  !"  replied  the  toaster  of  Tom  Moore — 
"  what  have  you  to  say  to  me,  Sir  Parson  ?" 

"  Your  presence  is  required  at  home,  sir,  and  I  have 
pledged  my  word  to  have  you  there  as  soon  as  possible  — 
so  come  on." 

"  I  will  not  go,  that's  positive,"  cried  the  youth  ;  "  it  is 
all  a  ruse  to  get  me  out.  I  understand  all  the  movements 
of  the  game,  by  thunder  !  —  can  't  a  man  do  as  he  pleases 
in  this  free  land  ?  I  am  an  American,  Doctor." 

"Not  always,  sir;  yon  must  go.  When  I  get  out,  I  will 
tell  you  why  you  have  been  sent  for.  Come,  Sandford,  be 
reasonable." 

"  I  guess  you  will,  sir,"  replied  Sandford,  the  blood 
rushing  to  his  temples.  "  I  should  like  to  know  who  dares 
say  must  to  me  !" 

"  Come,  Mr.  Sandford,  it  is  useless  to  refuse,"  replied 


Mus.  BEN  DAKBY.  207 

the  stranger  ;  "  if  I  must  tell  you  the  truth,  to  get  you 
home,  your  sister,  sir,  is  dying,  and  wants  to  see  you." 

"  Yes,  I  know  she  is,"  replied  the  reckless  youth,  coolly 
sipping  his  unfinished  glass.  "The  last  time  it  was  mother, 
and  when  I  got  home,  she  was  eating  ice  cream.  I  thought 
she  was  taking  it  coolly.  No  sir  1  you  can 't  come  it  over 
me  with  that  story  !  It  has  been  tried  once  too  often. 
Here,  fill  my  glass,  by  thunder — I'll  stick  to  you,  boys,  as 
long  as  I  can  stand  !" 

His  heartless  barbarity  struck  even  his  lawless  compan 
ions  with  disgust,  and  Frazier,  after  much  difficulty,  suc 
ceeded  in  getting  him  up  from  the  table,  and,  with  the 
assistance  of  the  most  sober  ones,  prepared  him  for  his  exit. 
Uttering  the  most  loathsome  curses,  he  was  dragged  out 
by  the  powerful  grasp  of  his  conductor ;  the  door  was  again 
closed,  and  the  revelers  renewed  their  potations. 

The  gap  which  the  absence  of  Sandford  made  in  their 
circle,  was  soon  forgotten,  and  they  laughed,  drank,  and 
cracked  jokes  as  if  nothing  had  transpired  to  interrupt  their 
party. 

The  night  was  pretty  far  advanced  when  the  all-subdu 
ing  power  of  the  various  mixtures  began  to  work  upon 
Duval.  At  first,  it  enlivened  him.  His  wit  and  pleasantry 
were  irresistible,  but  soon  they  gave  way  to  the  soporife- 
rous  qualities  of  the  stimulants,  and  he  began  to  nod  to  and 
fro,  and  finally  fell  into  a  hideous  and  unnatural  slum 
ber.  The  others  drank  until  perfectly  intoxicated;  they 
then  became  uproarious,  some  singing  disgusting  strains  ; 
some  cursing  and  raving  in  temporary  insanity ;  some 
laughing  with  the  diabolical  malignity  of  a  Satan,  at 


208  MRS.  BKN  DARBY. 

the  prostrated  form  of  Clarence,  boasting,  in  coarse  lan 
guage,  at  the  conquest  they  had  gained. 

Frazier  and  Symes,  naturally  petulant  and  restive,  sepa 
rated  themselves  from  the  rest  of  the  party,  and  began  to 
quarrel.  The  dispute  commenced  about  the  pilgrim  fathers, 
and  ended  in  a  political  discussion,  the  merits  of  -which 
were  lost  in  the  noise  and  confusion  of  the  disputants. 
Words  ran  high,  until  they  attracted  the  attention  of  the 
others,  who  hastened  up  to  them  ;  each  took  sides  with  his 
favorite,  until  they  were  pretty  well  divided  and  matched, 
then  words  gave  place  to  blows — the  noise  and  tumult  was 
tremendous. 

The  cry  of  one  party  was  to  theirs — to  cut  the  Fourth  of 
July  under  the  eyes  of  his  adversary  ;  and  they  shouted 
back — to  imprint  the  Declaration  of  Independence  on  the 
noses  of  their  enemies.  Chairs  came  into  requisition,  and 
flew,  like  winged  creatures,  through  the  air.  Their  social 
and  refined  meeting  was  ending  in  a  drunken  broil  —  a 
bloody  fight. 

Gradually  the  battle  subsided,  as  the  belligerents  were 
knocked  down,  or  sank,  out  of  breath,  and  exhausted  by 
exertion,  which  their  enfeebled  bodies  could  not  sustain, 
and  there  was  nothing  to  be  heard  but  the  dull,  tubby 
breathing  of  the  conquered  revelers. 

"  Their  feeble  tongues 
Unable  to  take  tip  the  cumbrous  word 
Lie  quite  dissolved.    Before  their  maudlin  eyes 
Seem  dim  and  blue,  the  double  tapers  dance 
Like  the  sun  wading  through  the  misty  sky; 
Then  sliding  soft,  they  drop  confused  above 
Glasses  and  bottles,  pipes  and  gazetteers 
As  if  the  table  e'en  itself  was  drunk." 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  209 

There  lay  Clarence  Duval  upon  the  floor,  for  he  had 
slided  down  from  the  sofa,  unconscious  of  the  storm  that' 
was  raging  around  him.  The  sun  was  high  up  in  the 
heavens  when  he  awoke  from  his  torpid  slumber.  Scarcely 
had  he  opened  his  eyes  before  an  excruciating  pain  shot 
across  his  brow ;  his  lips  were  parched  with  heat ;  his  pulse 
wild  and  feverish ;  his  rich  hair  lay  in  damp,  massy  tangles 
upon  his  clammy  temples.  A  crust  of  coagulated  spume, 
exuded  from  the  stomach,  lay  stiff  and  thick  upon  his 
model  moustache,  and  mattery  gum  oozed  in  yellow  beads 
from  the  corners  of  his  inflamed  and  lusterless  eyes.  His 
shirt-bosom  was  seamed  and  besmeared  with  liquor  and 
cigar  juice  ;  his  vest  collapsed  and  awry  ;  his  cravat,  with 
its  butterfly  bow,  crumpled  and  turned  hind-part  before ; 
his  pants  tucked  up  by  the  tops  of  his  boots  until  they  had 
lost  all  conservative  power,  yielding  nothing  to  the  strenu 
ous  exertion  of  the  wearer  to  replace  them  in  their  former 
position. 

He  looked  around  the  apartment,  like  one  in  the  horrid 
throes  of  nightmare ;  by  degrees,  his  senses  brought  back 
to  memory  the  events  of  the  past  night ;  reflections  terrific, 
virulent  came  crowding  upon  him.  The  lamps  were  shat 
tered;  the  vessels  of  their  revelry  were  smashed  in  a 
thousand  pieces  scattered  under  and  about  the  table; 
bottles  and  hats  piled  in  pyramids  upon  the  "  festive 
board;"  the  punch,  in  which  had  floated  the  brilliant 
thoughts,  the  racy  anecdotes,  the  timely  jest,  the  ingenuous 
pun,  presented  now  a  dead  sea — upon  the  surface  of  which 
floated  bits  of  crackers,  rinds  of  cheese,  almonds,  half- 
smoked  cigars,  half-burned  lighters,  and  champagne  corks. 

The  chairs  lay  broken  in  confusion  about  the  apartment. 
18 


210  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

Some  poor,  sickened  wretches  had  disgorged  their  over 
charged  and  rebellious  stomachs  on  the  hearth-rug  and  had 
spouted  the  obnoxious  decoction  over  the  sides  of  the  man- 
tlepiece.  Some  were  lying  on  the  floor — some  on  the  sofas, 
and  others  were  reclining  against  the  side  of  the  room  with 
bloody  faces  and  blackened  eyes. 

Clarence  walked  forth  from  that  infernal  chamber  with  a 
faltering  step  and  dizzy  brain.  He  felt  as  if  his  brow  was 
pressed  by  the  poisoned  band  of  Orcus  and  that  "  it  would 
not  come  away." 

It  was  a  glorious  November  morning ;  the  sunlight  lay  in 
sheets  of  gold  upon  the  waters  of  the  bay,  and  the  breeze 
from  the  ocean  was  bracing  and  vivifying ;  but  what  cares 
the  drunkard  for  the  beautiful  scenes  of  nature  or  art  ?  He 
stumbles  on  with  a  curse ;  his  muddled  brain  can  scarce 
retrace  his  footsteps  to  his  rooms.  He  throws  himself  upon 
his  bed  to  sleep  off  the  horrors  which  now  possess  him. 
The  inebriate  sells  a  pearl  of  the  soul  for  every  drop  he 
drinks — a  gem  of  hope  for  every  cup  he  sips,  until  the  im 
mortal  soul  is  bartered  by  piecemeal  to  this  dark  tempter. 
Begin  as  he  may,  the  finale  is  the  same — there  is  no  peace, 
no  trust,  while  his  fingers  tamper  with  the  scorpion's  drug, 
that  palsies  the  heart  and  maddens  the  brain. 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  211 


20. 


CLAUD.        And  she  is  exoedingly  wise. 

D.  PEDKO.   In  everything  but  in  loving  Benedict. — SHAKSPEARE. 

READER,  we  will  now  enter  Mr.  Temple's  tea  parlor.  It 
is  just  six  o'clock  in  the  evening,  and  a  clear  coal  fire 
enliv.ens  the  hearth.  The  gas  chases  the  crouching 
shadows  from  every  corner  of  the  apartment.  The  dark 
curtains  are  over  the  closed  windows  to  exclude  the  chill 
air,  and  give  a  picture  of  comfort  and  cheerfulness  within. 
Mrs.  Lacy,  formerly  Miss  Paulina  of  Wolf-Gap  memory, 
presides  at  the  tea-table,  in  that  quiet,  staid  way  peculiar 
to  old  Virginia  housekeepers.  Elinor  is  seated,  in  child 
like  grace,  on  an  ottoman  at  her  father's  feet,  leaning  on 
the  arm  of  his  chair  and  reading  the  Siftings  of  the  Daily 
Times.  Mr.  Temple  looks  older,  much  older;  his  locks 
are  quite  white,  but  his  general  appearance  bespeaks  better 
health  and  more  elaborate  strength  and  constitutional 
powers.  He  looks  like  "  a  man  of  sorrows  and  one 
acquainted  with  grief;"  yet  still  we  can  read  resignation 
and  patience  on  the  placid  lineaments  of  his  face.  Mr. 
Lacy,  a  noble,  manly-looking  gentleman,  is  occupied  at  a 
side-table  with  a  periodical.  Kate  Fairmont  is  tuning  the 
strings  of  her  guitar,  on  the  sofa,  looking  very  lovely,  but 
very  busy. 

Behind  Mrs.  Lacy's  chair  stands  Lunnun,  the  old  house- 
servant  from  the  Gap.  He  was  emancipated  with  the  rest 


212  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

of  Mr.  Temple's  negroes,  but  would  not  leave  "the  child 
ren,"  as  he  called  them.  He  is  faithful  and  trustworthy — 
the  executor  of  his  mistress'  will.  See  how  stately  he 
stands — his  arms  folded  across  his  breast,  the  large  balls 
of  his  eyes  raised,  but  his  vision  directed  downward,  watch 
ing  the  antic  motions  of  a  little  pet  dog,  basking  himself 
before  the  fire,  which  it  did  not  feel  willing  to  leave  yet  it 
could  not  find  a  position  that  precisely  suited  its  tempera 
ment — sometimes  it  would  draw  up  its  feet — sometimes 
stretch  its  paws  to  the  grate,  then  rise  up  slowly  and  shake 
its  sides  to  turn  round  and  lie  down  again. 

Lunnun  was  fond  of  soliloquizing,  very  methodical  in  his 
proceedings,  and  so  very  precise  and  neat  in  his  person 
that  one  would  suppose  it  impossible  to  improve  his  appear 
ance,  yet  on  Sundays  he  indulged  in  sundry  excelsiors,  and 
if  you  chanced  to  meet  him  with  his  kid  gloves  and  silver- 
headed  cane,  you  would  think  he  was  going  "  to  meet 
Johnny  Booker  at  the  Bowling- Green." 

"  Only  listen,  papa,"  said  Elinor,  turning  quickly  to 
Mr.  Temple,  then  blushing  slightly  she  turned  over  the 
paper. 

"  I  am  all  attention,  daughter." 

"  Oh !  it  is  nothing,  only  the  arrival  of  Clarence  Duval 
at  Judson's  Hotel." 

"When?" 

"  On  Saturday." 

"  The  very  day  we  arrived  !"  cried  Kate,  laying  down 
the  guitar. 

"  Yes,  and  he  is  the  very  young  gentleman  we  noticed 
on  the  New  World." 

"  And  not  called  on  us  yet ! — we  must  hunt  him  up." 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  213 

"  I  think,  brother,  it  would  be  more  prudent  to  await 
Mr.  Duval's  pleasure.  If  he  wishes  to  cultivate  our  ac 
quaintance,  he  can  easily  find  us." 

"  Perhaps  he  is  sick;  and  as  his  uncle  is  an  old  friend, 
and  has  written  to  me  to  look  over  him  a  little,  I  think  it 
my  duty  to  do  so." 

"If  it  is  the  same  gentleman  we  saw  on  the  boat,"  said 
Kate,  na'ively,  "I  should  think  he  could  take  good  care  of 
himself." 

"  His  uncle  gives  him  a  fine  character,"  replied  Mr. 
Temple,  "  and  no  doubt  he  will  greatly  add  to  our  family 
circle." 

Kate  colored,  and  silently  took  up  the  guitar  again. 

"  If  he  resembles  his  father,  we  shall  find  him  very 
interesting,"  said  Mrs.  Lacy;  "I  can  remember,  when 
Clement  Duvai  was  the  life  of  every  social  meeting — per 
haps  a  little  too  careless  in  his  duties — too  fond  of  gay 
life — but  very  amiable  in  disposition." 

"Very  amiable  people,  sister,  are  always  popular — very 
amiable  people  please  everybody,  because  they  adapt  them 
selves  to  every  one's  caprices,  wishes,  views,  and  opinions. 
Clement  Duval  was  always  wild  and  reckless,  and  it  is  a 
wonder  to  me,  he  has  retained  his  station,  and  increased 
his  fortune." 

"That,"  said  Mr.  Lacy,  laying  down  his  book,  "is  be 
cause  he  reformed — he  was,  at  one  time,  on  the  brink  of 
ruin — he  drank  very  hard,  but  paused -on  the  threshold  of 
degradation — commenced  a  new  course,  and  proved  his 
manhood  ""by  resisting  temptation,  and  turning  a  cold 
shoulder  to  his  profligate  companions." 


214  MRS.  BEN  DAKBY. 

"  He  deserves  a  great  deal  of  praise,"  said  Mrs.  Lacy; 
"  I  am  very  sure,  few  follow  his  example  now-a-days." 

"  Now-a-days  !  why  bless  your  soul,  sister,"  said  Mr. 
Temple,  smiling,  "  the  world  was  always  as  degenerate  as 
it  is  now." 

"  And  old  ladies  just  as  malicious — but  tell  me,  brother, 
you  do  not  expect  the  gentleman  to  take  up  his  abode  with 
us?" 

"  No,  no — he  does  not  need  as  close  vigilance  as  that. 
I  am  only  requested  to  give  him  good  advice,  and  keep  an 
eye  on  his  proceedings  as  far  as  I  can." 

Just  then  the  bell  rang,  and  Clarence  Duval  entered  the 
parlor. 

Reader,  not  the  individual  we  left  brooding  over  his 
misspent  hours,  his  prostituted  talents,  with  bitter  remorse 
and  contrition — but  the  elegant,  the  refined,  the  intel 
lectual,  fashionable,  high-toned,  aristocratic,  and  fascinating 
Clarence  Duval.  He  had  dozed  off  his  stupor  on  Sunday — 
made  his  vows  of  reformation — cut  away  with  disgust,  the 
filthy  testations  of  his  Saturday  night's  debauch — and  after 
putting  himself  in  his  best  attire,  hastened  to  visit  the 
Temples  in  Tenth  street. 

The  reception  given  him  by  his  father's  old  friends,  was 
truly  gratifying.  He  found  himself  in  an  interesting 
circle — his  conversational  powers  revived  and  improved 
with  the  stimulus  given  by  the  eagerness  and  undivided 
attention  bestowed  on  him. 

Clarence  was  formed  by  nature  to  please ;  his  faultless 
form,  adorned  with  all  the  strength  of  manhood,  yet  soft 
and  flexible  in  attitude  and  motion  ;  his  fine  face ;  his 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  215 

insinuating  address  ;  his  easy,  self-confident  manners  ;  his 
well-stored  mind ;  his  poetic  thoughts ;  his  classical  stores, 
all  combined  to  render  him  irresistible — at  least  so  said  the 
ladies  of  Tenth  street — so  thought  Kate  Fairmont,  as  she 
glanced  at  him  from  behind  the  guitar,  as  she  carelessly 
rested  it  against  her  cheek. 

Mr.  Temple  poured  a  shower  of  reproaches  upon  his 
young  friend,  for  being  so  long  in  the  city  without  calling, 
especially  as  they  had  been  expecting  him. 

Mrs.  Lacy  thought  it  selfish  to  expect  so  much  of  Mr. 
Duval,  there  was  so  much  to  charm  the  eye,  and  engage 
the  attention  in  the  city — they  ought  not  to  have  wished 
the  sacrifice. 

Mr.  Temple  said  that  Mrs.  Lacy  always  espoused  the 
cause  of  the  delinquent.  To  which  Mr.  Duval  gallantly 
replied,  "  that  he  was  willing  to  plead  guilty,  in  order  to 
be  honored  by  such  a  fair  advocate — but  to  be  candid," 
continued  he,  "  I  should  have  been  here  on  Saturday 
evening,  but  on  my  way  I  met  some  old  friends,  who  in 
sisted  on  my  spending  the  evening  with  them,  and  ever 
since  I  have  been  suffering  with  a  severe  headache." 

"  It  was,  no  doubt,  produced  by  riding  in  the  cars," 
said  Mrs.  Lacy,  "  it  always  affects  me  just  so." 

"Perhaps  it  is  the  influenza — it  is  very  prevalent,  and 
always  deranges  the  head." 

"  Do  you  use  the  Homoeopathic  or  Allopathic  medi 
cines  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Lacy. 

' '  I  seldom  use  any  kind — my  present  indisposition  will 
soon  wear  off." 

"I  recommend  Mrs.  Jarvis's  cough  candy,"  said  Elinor — 
"  it  is  my  panacea." 


216  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

"  Or  a  cold  bath,"  said  Mr.  Temple;  "nothing  like  it, 
sir." 

"  Or  an  evening  at  Christy's,"  said  Kate  slyly. 

"  All  these  prescriptions  may  be  good  in  their  way,  but 
if  we  live  temperately  in  all  things,  we  would  need  but  few 
visits  from  the  doctor,"  replied  Mr.  Temple. 

"You  should  have  been  with  us  on  Saturday  evening,  at 
the  Tabernacle  ;  we  had  a  fine  lecture  on  temperance." 

Mr.  Duval  was  very  sorry  he  had  not  been  with  them. 

"  A  fine  appeal,"  said  Mr.  Lacy. 

"Perhaps,"  said  Elinor,  mischievously,  "Mr.  Duval  is 
not  quite  as  ardent  in  the  cause  as  you  are." 

"  How  could  he  be  ?"  said  Mr.  Temple,  sighing. 

"I  am  an  advocate  for  temperance,"  replied  Duval, 
"  but  not  for  the  Temperance  Society." 

"  How  do  you  separate  them  ?"  asked  Mr.  Temple. 

"  I  do  not  believe  in  force.  If  a  man  is  inclined  to  be 
sober  and  virtuous,  he  will  be  so ;  if  he  loves  the  bottle,  no 
law  or  restraint  can  entirely  reform  him,  and  all  pretension 
to  it  is  hypocrisy — a  man  must  act  from  freedom,  or  the  act 
is  not  his  own,"  said  Clarence. 

"  Then  all  church  services  should  be  dispensed  with — 
the  religion  of  Jesus  Christ  needs  no  advocates — no  facili 
ties  to  bear  it  through  the  universe.  Drunkenness  is  only 
one  of  the  sins,  against  which  the  warfare  of  virtue  must 
be  constantly  waged." 

"  The  world,  Mr.  Temple,"  replied  Duval,  "  will  never 
become  thoroughly  converted  to  temperance.  Surely  the 
advocates  of  the  Order  cannot  indulge  the  chimerical  idea, 
that  the  period  will  ever  arrive,  when  ardent  spirits,  or  an 
appetite  for  stimulants  will  cease  to  exist  among  men." 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  217 

"  Neither  does  the  Christian  hope  that  until  the  period 
of  God's  vast  decree,  that  either  sin,  or  the  propensity  for 
its  indulgence,  will  cease  to  exist,  while  man  moves  in 
freedom  of  will,  a  finite  being ;  yet  his  divine  Maker  has 
left  open  an  avenue  to  his  heart,  through  which  the  holy 
principles  of  truth  and  love  may  force  their  way  to  his  inner 
nature." 

"  Mr.  Temple,"  said  Duval,  "  God  himself  has,  in  the 
constitution  of  man,  laid  the  foundation  for  this  evil.  In 
our  natural  condition,  the  organization  of  man  seems  to 
require,  for  the  preservation  of  health,  a  certain  degree  of 
stimulus." 

"Agreed.     Proceed,  sir." 

"  Among  the  epicures  and  gourmands  of  civilized  life, 
this  opinion  is  universally  advanced  and  sustained.  Its  no 
toriety  would  seem  to  argue,  that  the  use  of  it  is  among 
the  necessities  of  life.  The  Turk  must  have  his  pipe — the 
German  also.  The  Spaniard  would  smoke  his  cigar  in  the 
face  of  the  world.  The  American  prefers  to  chew  the  nox 
ious  weed,  and  he  does  it  in  the  glory  of  his  republican 
rights,  to  the  horror  of  the  housekeeper,  and  in  defiance  of 
Turkey  carpets  and  flowered  hearths.  Nor  is  this  love  of 
stimulant  limited  to  the  physical  properties  of  man.  His 
whole  intellectual  being  demands  excitement  and  impetus. 
Ancient  history  overflows  with  evidences  of  this  peculiarity 
of  our  nature.  The  Olympic  games  ;  the  public  shows 
and  pageantry  of  their  conquests  ;  the  horrid  yet  intensely 
exciting  scenes  of  the  gladiatorial  arena ;  the  terrific  bull 
fights,  so  full  of  interest  to  the  old  Castilianjcarnivals;  the 
scenes  of  the  drama  ;  the  stupendous  wars  of  invasion  and 

conquest  that  have  merged  races,  and  changed  the  whole 
19 


218  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

structure  of  human  society,  with  a  thousand  of  more 
modern  excitements,  such  as  national  ballads,  agitating 
elections — the  love  of  arms." 

"Man,  then,  in  this  mental  and  physical  position,  needs 
stimulus.  Let  me  ask  you,  my  young  friend,  has  not  God 
furnished  him  every  delight — every  sentiment  of  ambition — 
every  inducement  to  intellect — every  perfection  to  man's 
physical  organization  —  every  wonder  in  nature — every 
sympathy  of  soul — every  inducement  that  belongs  to  the 
grandeur  of  immortality,  inviting  him  to  pursue  the  journey 
of  life  rationally,  happily,  and  consistent  with  the  preroga 
tives  of  the  children  of  God  ?  Why  should  man  feel  the 
want  of  stimulus  to  pursue  the  journey  of  life  ?  If  he 
turns  to  the  right,  science  beckons  him  on  to  unexplored 
regions,  where  the  intellect  unwinds  its  boundless  folds; 
Religion  erects  her  temples ;  Love  sports  his  resistless  at 
tractions;  Hymen  keeps  his  lamp  burning  on  the  sacred 
altar ;  countless  affections,  graces,  sympathies,  and  suscepti 
bilities  cluster  about  his  heart,  like  tutelar  angels,  to  guard 
him  in  his  duty ;  and,  above  all,  that  broad  anchor  that 
holds  him  '  sure  and  steadfast/  amid  the  fearful  tempest  to 
which  he  is  ever  exposed,  while  tossing  upon  the  wide  ocean 
of  being.  I  mean  prayer  and  communion  with  his  Maker." 

"  Yes,  but  man  must  not  be  forced  to  temperance ;  it 
is  not  a  crime  amenable  to  law." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  but  it  should  be,  my  dear  young 
friend,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Lacy.  "  It  often  leads  to  the 
blackest  acts  of  man's  turpitude." 

"  So  will  ambition." 

"Yes,  in  the  abstract ;  but  it  can  never  be  a  contagion. 
It  is  limited  in  its  sphere  of  operations  ;  but  the  curse  of 


MKS.  BEN  DARBY.  219 

drunkenness  pervades  every  quarter  of  the  globe,  from  the 
isle  of  the  ocean  to  the  regions  of  the  Andes  ;  from  the 
crowded  corporations  of  Europe,  to  the  hills  and  hamlets 
of  New  Holland ;  from  the  haciendas  of  Mexico,  to  the 
villages  and  cities  of  our  own  beloved  land.  I  think,  sir, 
yours  is  a  weak  position." 

"I  do  affirm,  sir,  that  a  man  cannot  be  forced  to  reform, 
if  it  is  an  act  of  his  own  free  will." 

"The  drunkard,  sir,"  cried  Temple,  bitterly,  "has  no 
free  will." 

"  He  certainly  has  a  propensity,  and  if  he  can,  of  him 
self,  master  that  propensity,  he  does  not  succumb,  but,  on 
the  other  hand,  if  he  is  forced  by  others  to  reform,  the  evil 
is  not  radically  removed,  but " 

"  The  Temperance  Society  uses  no  force,"  said  Temple  ; 
"  it  comes  forth  to  aid,  to  strengthen.  The  divine  progress 
of  the  Christian  religion  owes  its  triumphs  (aside  from  its 
divinity)  to  its  adaptation  to  the  nature  of  man  ;  just  so 
the  Temperance  Society.  It  goes  forth  a  volunteer,  with  the 
weapons  of  faith,  love,  argument,  humility,  and  persuasion. 
Kindly,  affectionately  does  it  invite  the  ear  of  humanity  ; 
faithfully,  in  the  language  of  irresistible  force,  does  it  depict 
to  him  the  horrible  evils  of  alcohol  —  resistlessly  does  it 
pour  forth  the  facts  that  must  convince  the  hearer,  that  it 
is  a  fountain  of  unhappiness  in  this  life,  and  will  eventually 
end  in  the  sacrifice  of  eternal  enjoyment.  Then,  as  a  ten 
der  father  would  discourse  to  a  beloved  child,  comes  its 
deep  language  of  wild,  energetic  appeal.  The  heart  first 
listens  predisposed  ;  then  follows  earnest  and  thorough  con 
viction,  with  its  consequences — a  permanent  reformation. 
This  you  call  signing  away  your  liberty  !" 


220  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  in  signing  the  pledge,  a  man  gives  his  con 
science  into  the  hands  of  a  small  community." 

"  I  suppose,  then,  when  your  grandfather  signed  the 
Declaration  of  Independence,  he  signed  away  his  liberty — 
his  right  to  act  for  himself ;  he  belonged  to  a  smaller  party 
than  the  Sons — a  very  limited  party  ?" 

"  Oh  !  pardon  me,  Mr.  Lacy,"  said  Clarence,  "that  was 
a  different  affair." 

"  May  I  ask  why  ?" 

"The  struggle  was  for  freedom,  sir." 

"From  what,  young  friend  ?" 

"  From  tyranny — from  slavery  and  death." 

"  Ah  !  Mr.  Duval,  where  can  you  find  more  galling 
chains  than  those  the  fiend,  Intemperance,  rivets  upon  its 
victims  ?  Where  can  you  find  such  abject  slavery,  as  that 
arch-demon  imposes  ?  It  subdues  both  soul  and  body. 
The  temperance  preachers  are  brands  plucked  from  the 
awful  flame,  spreading  before  mankind  tneir  own  expe 
rience  with  the  tyrant ;  the  record  of  their  fierce  struggles 
with  him,  and  the  glorious  story  of  their  final  conquest." 

"  If  a  man  can  be  forced  from  drinking,  is  it  not  better 
for  him  to  yield  to  that  power,  than  to  let  him  plunge  him 
self  into  ruin  ?"  asked  Temple. 

"  And  not  only  himself,"  said  Elinor,  "  but  all  who  love 
him  ;  bringing  disgrace  upon  the  innocent  and  pure." 

"Suppose  every  man  was  a  drunkard,  would  not  this  be 
a  queer  world  ?"  said  Mr.  Lacy.  "  Yes,  one  mass  of  cor 
ruption,  disease,  loathsome,  disgusting,  helpless  beings, 
bending  with  palsied  limbs  ;  some  stupefied,  with  scarcely 
intellect  enough  to  grope  their  way  among  the  uncurbed 
tigers  going  forth  to  root  up  the  lingering  seeds  of  virtue, 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  221 

by  the  unbridled  fury  of  their  desolating  and  savage  pro 
pensities  ;  where  would  be  the  million  of  spires  that  now 
point  to  the  Redeemer — our  universities  ?  The  ocean,  bloom 
ing  with  the  variegated  colors  of  the  world's  nations,  would 
be  a  wilderness  of  waters,  troubled  only  by  the  winds  of 
heaven  and  the  rapine  of  human  demons,  knowing  no  law 
but  the  law  of  might.  Earth  would  become  all  that  we 
have  been  told  of  the  nethermost  regions." 

"I  must  say,  gentlemen,"  cried  Duval,  "that  your 
tableaux  are  very  impressive,  and,  no  doubt,  you  are 
right." 

"Would  I  could  convince  you,  young  friend,"  said  Lacy, 
"of  your  erroneous  view  of  the  subject.  Young  .men,  just 
beginning  life,  with  every  desirable  breeze  in  their  sails, 
should  not  fail  for  the  want  of  ballast." 

"  You  call  the  Temperance  Society  ballast  ?"  asked 
Clarence. 

"  I  do  ;  and  as  such,  I  recommend  it  to  your  consider 
ation." 

"  College,  I  suspect,"  said  Mrs.  Lacy,  "  is  a  poor  place  to 
learn  sobriety." 

"  Decidedly  so,  madam,"  replied  Duval ;  "  yet  we  do 
sometimes  find  a  student  who  stands  alone,  as  it  regards 
morality  and  sobriety.  I  had  a  classmate,  who  was  the 
most  punctual,  the  most  industrious,  energetic,  temperate — 
and  possessing  at  all  times,  and  under  all  circumstances, 
perfect  self-control  ;  yet,  madam,  he  left  college  beloved 
and  respected  by  all." 

"  Such  instances  are  rare." 

"  Sir,  when  he  entered  college,  we  attributed,  with  one 


222  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

accord,  his  punctilious,  scrupulous  mode  of  proceeding,  to 
sordid  and  selfish  purposes,  or  want  of  courage." 

"We  are  very  apt  to  judge  harshly,"  said  Mrs.  Lacy, 
"  of  others,  but  spare  ourselves." 

"Believe  me,  Mrs.  Lacy,  we  found  him  highminded, 
over-generous,  unselfish,  and  truthful ;  he  became  our  ora 
cle — our  test  of  human  nature — our  standard  of  moral 
worth — our  judge  and  counselor.  When  we  found  him  im 
pregnable  to  our  shafts  of  ridicule — our  cutting  insinua 
tions,  and  malicious  raillery,  or,  what  was  worse,  our  prac 
tical  jokes,  which  proved  to  be  no  jokes  at  all,  we  concluded 
that  he  lacked  spirit,  or  that  his  views  were  the  conse 
quences  of  a  meager  nature.  This  idea,  like  the  rest,  was 
confuted  by  his  daring  courage — his  entire  forgetfulness  of 
all  animosities  when  danger  threatened  any  of  us." 

"  He  had  a  noble  disposition,"  remarked  Mr.  Temple. 

"  Sensitive  to  the  quick,  where  honor  was  concerned,  yet 
he  could  not  be  forced  into  a  duel,  or  even  into  a  quarrel." 

"  Opposed  to  dueling  from  principle,"  said  Mr.  Lacy. 

"  Just  so,"  replied  Duval;  "  he  was  decided  against  all 
games  of  chance,  late  hours,  indolence,  extra  suppers,  and 
never  was  known  to  taste  ardent  spirits." 

"  I  suppose  you  found  him  dull  and  uninteresting  com 
pany?"  said  Mr.  Lacy. 

"  Not  at  all ;  his  jest  was  always  acceptable  ;  his  laugh 
ter  contagious  ;  his  satire  inimitable  ;  his  room  was  our 
court  of  justice,  and  he  was  the  judge." 

"Your  description  captivates  me,"  said  Elinor,  archly; 
"  so  many  good  qualities ;  pray,  Mr.  Duval,  was  your  hero 
handsome  ?" 


MBS.  BEN  DA#BY.  223 

"  You  would  not  call  him  handsome,  Miss  Temple,  for 
he  was  not,  by  any  means,  a  lady's  favorite  ;  he  never 
sought  the  society  of  the  drawing-room.  Indeed,  I  never 
knew  him  to  have  a  single  female  acquaintance,  except  a 
widow,  who  had  a  very  profligate  son  ;  he  often  visited 
the  house,  and  used  every  means  in  his  power  to  reform 
the  son,  but  was  unsuccessful." 

"Did  he  never  join  in  your  sports  ?"  asked  Mr.  Temple. 

"  Heartily,  while  they  remained,  (what  he  considered) 
in  reasonable  bounds.  I  must  confess,  he  was  too 
rigid,  too  impenetrable.  We  always  called  him  our  chap 
lain." 

"  Was  he  poetical  ?"  asked  Kate,  timidly  raising  her  eyes 
to  the  fine  face  of  Clarence. 

"  Not  a  vein  of  poetry  in  his  whole  composition  ;  his  mind 
was  a  solid  block  of  polished  gold,  without  carving,  fret 
work,  or  filling." 

''Ladies  must  be  inquisitive,"  said  Mrs.  Lacy,  in  her 
soft,  apologetic  way,  "may  I  avail  myself  of  the  privilege, 
and  ask  the  name  of  your  paragon  ?" 

"  Madam,  his  name  was  Harper  ;  he " 

"  Theodore !  our  own  Theodore  !  I  know  it  can  be  no 
other,"  cried  Mrs.  Lacy,  "it  all  sounds  just  like  him." 

"  How  sanguine  you  are,  Paulina  ?"  said  Mr.  Temple, 
laughing.  "  Poor  fellow,  it  is  not  very  likely  he  ever  found 
his  way  into  a  college." 

"  Why  not,  brother,  tell  us  why?" 

"  Poverty,  dear  sister." 

"What  lien  had  poverty  on  such  a  spirit  as  his,  rich  in 
its  powers,  rich  in  its  gifts,  and  powerful  in  its  resources? 
I  have  been  expecting  all  along  to  hear  of  him." 


224  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

"Mrs.  Lacy,  you  do  my  friend  justice;  it  is  Theodore 
Harper,  I  speak  of." 

"It  could  be  no  one  else,"  said  Elinor,  pale  with  excite 
ment;  "  he  was  such  as  you  describe  him  in  boyhood.  He 
never  could  change." 

"Where  is  he  at  present?"  asked  Mr.  Temple;  "for  I 
have  sought  him  in  vain." 

"In  the  city,  practicing  medicine.  I  hope  he  will  prosper." 

"He  will  succeed — he  must  succeed,"  cried  Mr.  Temple; 
"  that,  Mr.  Duval,  is  the  spirit  which  keeps  men  from  being 
drunkards.  The  only  sober  people  are  not  those  who  have 
no  taste  for  liquor." 

"I  feel  so  proud  to  hear  such  news  of  my  old  hero," 
said  Mrs.  Lacy ;  "  I  knew  he  would  be  a  man  some  day." 

"  I  will  send  for  him  the  first  time  I  feel  the  least  sick," 
said  Kate,  merrily. 

"Opposition!"  exclaimed  Elinor.  "I  will  get  sick  on 
purpose  to  try  his  skill." 

"Doctor  Harper!"  said  Mrs.  Lacy;  "well,  wonders  will 
never  cease  !" 

"Doctor  Harper  !"  said  Elinor,  as  her  head  touched  the 
pillow.  That  night  she  dreamed  of  Wolf- Gap — the  play 
ground  in  the  apple  orchard — the  cliff  where  the  woodbine 
bloomed  so  early  and  lingered  so  long  after  the  blossoms 
on  the  hillsides  had  withered  and  died.  She  sat  in  a  plea 
sant  nook,  and  Theodore  was  making  her  a  crown  of  flowers 
and  holly,  while  she  sang 

"Carry  me  back  to  Ole  Virginny." 

When  Elinor  told  Hannah  her  dream,  the  latter  asked  if 
the  flowers  were  white ;  "  because"  said  she,  "  if  they  were, 
it  is  a  sign  of  a  funeral." 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  225 


21. 


JUL.    Not  so ;  but  it  hath  been  the  longest  night, 

That  e'er  I  watched,  and  the  heaviest. — SHAKSPEARE. 

ELINOR  had  seated  herself  in  a  rocking-chair  before  the 
bright,  clear  fire,,  apparently  in  a  very  deep  study,  while 
Mrs.  Lacy  was  busying  herself  in  making  things  charming 
in  the  bed-room  of  her  niece— beating  up  the  pillows,  then 
patting  down  the  bed — talking  first  to  Elinor  and  then  to 
herself. 

"Come,  sit  down,  Aunt  Paulina,  and  tell  me  why  you 
and  Mr.  Lacy  were  so  long  engaged  ?  why  you  did  not 
marry  before  ?  and  why  you  have  married  at  last?" 

"Three  good  questions  at  once,  dear;  but  as  they  all 
move  on  the  same  pivot,  one  answer  will  be  sufficient — we 
were  not  ready." 

"Well,"  replied  Elinor,  laughing;  "I  think  you  must 
have  had  a  great  deal  to  do." 

"  How  glad  I  am  to  see  you  smile,  child.  Do  you 
know  you  have  been  looking  so  very  serious  since  your 
return?" 

"  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  Aunt  Paulina,  I  have  never 
felt  inclined  to  be  even  happy  or  cheerful  since  I  last  saw 
my  poor  wretched  mother — how  can  I  ever  be  so?" 

"At  your  age,  child,  cheerfulness  is  necessary." 

"  How  often  have  I  wished  myself  back  in  the  moun 
tains." 


226  MRS.  BEN  DABBY. 

"  You  little  simpleton !"  said  Mrs.  Lacy,  smoothing  her 
hair  back  from  her  face;  "leave  this  huge  city  for  the 
'backwoods!'  When  I  was  your  age,  I  could  not  have 
been  better  suited — our  city  quarters  are  so  ample  and 
snug.  Dear  me  !  instead  of  moping  about  '  like  the  maiden 
all  forlorn,'  I  should  have  been  as  gay  as  a  lark.  You 
must  shake  off  this  melancholy,  indeed  you  must." 

"  I  do  try,  indeed  I  do." 

"  Never  mind,  dear,  you  have  been  pent  up  so  long,  like 
a  bird  in  a  cage,  that  it  is  no  wonder  your  spirits  begin  to 
fail.  Never  mind,  we  will  make  a  visit,  to-morrow,  to 
Brooklyn  and  see  the  Van  Spankers — cheer  ourselves  up 
and  be  interesting." 

"  What  would  I  not  give  to  be  gay  like  you !" 

"Like  me,  child?  How  simple  you  are!  It  could  not 
be  expected  of  one  of  your  age,"  said  Mrs.  Lacy,  rocking 
herself  rapidly  to  and  fro. 

"  You  could  always  make  others  happier." 

"  The  secret  is  this,  dear — to  be  always  happy  your 
self;  a  miserable,  yawning,  sighing  and  whining,  milk- 
and-water-natured  person  never  added  comfort  to  any 
circle." 

"  But  everybody  has  not  the  same  temperament." 

"  Certainly  not." 

"  Some  are  more  unfortunate  than  others." 

"  The  most  unfortunate  person  in  the  world  is  he,  or  she 
(and  especially  she),  who  thinks  that  their  griefs  and 
sorrows  •  are  more  poignant  and  interesting  than  other 
people's — they  use  them,  and  pet  them,  and  feed  them — if 
by  chance,  any  one  tries  to  soothe  them  into  forgetfulness 
or  cheat  them  of  a.  smile,  they  deem  it  sacrilege.  No, 


MRS.  BEN  DARBV.  227 

dear,  we  must  repress  our  own  feelings  within  our  own 
hearts  and  live  for  the  happiness  of  others." 

"  You  always  did — I  know  you  did." 

"It  will  not  do  to  mourn  over  blasted  hopes,  lost 
dreams,  or  think,  because  you  have  been  deceived  in  the 
character  of  one  individual,  that  all  mankind  is  a  bundle 
of  infirmity.  Set  the  lamp  a  little  farther  back  and  I  will 
try  and  tell  you  a  short  love  story." 

"  Oh  !  do — I  have  not  heard  one  of  your  tales  for  a  very 
long  time,  dear  aunt." 

"  Once  upon  a  time,"  said  Mrs.  Lacy;  "a  young  gentle 
man  came  to  visit  your  father  at  the  old  homestead,  our 
dear  old  mountain  cottage,  at  the  base  of  the  Blue-Ridge, 
where  you  passed  so  many  happy  hours." 

"  The  only  happy  ones  I  ever  knew." 

"Well,  you  must  not  interrupt  me,  dear,  or  my  old 
crazy  head  will  be  wool-gathering.  As  I  was  saying — 
Alfred  Lacy  came  to  spend  the  Christmas  holidays  with 
your  father.  They  were  called  cronies — you  know  the 
men  harp  a  great  deal  on  old  academical  associations — he 
was  very  young,  handsome,  and  decidedly  fascinating,  and 
withal  of  a  rich  and  aristocratic  family.  The  old  Virgi 
nians,  you  know,  are  proverbial  for  the  tenacity  with  which 
they  cling  to  the  family  tree.  For  my  part,  I  did  not  feel 
prejudiced  in  his  favor  on  account  of  his  pedigree  ;  had  he 
been  poor  and  a  humble  tiller  of  the  ground,  I  should  have 
felt  and  nourished  the  same  sentiment.  I  was  young,  and 
having  lived  always  in  retirement,  was  but  a  poor  judge 
of  human  nature — always  easily  deceived." 

"  You  have  not  improved  much,  in  that  respect,  by  ex 
perience." 


228  MRS.  BEN  DARBT. 

"  May  be  not,  child  ;  but  then  I  looked  only  at  the  sur 
face.  Alfred  Lacy,  setting  all  partiality  aside,  was  one  of 
the  finest  looking  men  I  ever  saw." 

"  He  is  better  looking  now  than  half  the  young  — " 

"  Pshaw  !  keep  still,  child,  or  I  shall  never  finish  my 
story.  He  staid  a  month  with  us — such  a  short,  brief 
month — it  passed  away  on  its  locomotive  wheels,  and  left 
the  dull  car  of  time,  moving  down  with  the  stoppages  of 
its  breakers.  He  left  us,  with  many  assurances  of  a  speedy 
return.  Everything  looked  dull  and  gray  after  he  left  — 
the  birds  quit  singing,  and  chill  winds  came  down  from  the 
mountains  ;  the  doors  and  windows  were  closed,  and  dark 
winter  took  up  its  silent  quarters  in  the  little  green  arbor  ; 
long,  dreary  evenings  came  and  went  so  much  alike,  that 
memory  had  no  clue  to  distinguish  them. 

At  last,  spring  came  lagging  on,  as  it  always  did,  smiling 
one  day  and  frowning  the  next,  like  a  coquette  ;  but  when 
her  warm  breath  had  melted  the  ice-gems  from  the  moun 
tain's  brow,  and  sent  a  glow  of  rapture  through  the  valleys 
and  glades,  decking  the  unfurrowed  fields  with  the  early 
primrose,  and  that  '  wee,  modest,  crimson-tipped  flower,' 
the  mountain  daisy,  '  o'  clod  or  stane.' 

"  Just  after  the  Petersburg  races  were  over,  he  returned, 
gay  and  lively  ;  he  entertained  us  with  animated  descrip 
tions  of  the  sports.  I  confess,  I  never  felt  partial  to  such 
diversions  ;  on  the  contrary,  I  always  nourished  too  much 
sympathy  for  the  poor  dumb  creatures,  worried  and  jaded 
to  armise  minds  that  might  find  more  rational  means  of  en 
joyment.  However,  it  did  not  seem  so  erroneous  in  him, 
for  all  he  said  and  did  was  au  fait,  at  least,  in  my  eyes. 
Love  is  like  a  heavy  smoothing-iron,  when  warm,  it  presses 


MRS.  BEN  DARBT.  229 

out  many  wrinkles  in  the  character  of  the  beloved.  To 
make  my  confession  brief,  I  fell  deeply  and  desperately  in 
love,  and  was  made  completely  happy  by  a  proposal  of 
marriage.  How  bright  and  beautiful  the  world  looked  then, 
to  my  ardent  and  sanguine  heart  !  I  walked  out  into  the 
apple  orchard,  to  the  old  cider  press,  and  gave  vent  to  my 
girlish  feelings ;  I  wept  and  laughed  by  turns.  When  I 
thought  of  leaving  my  mountain-home,  with  its  wild  grot 
toes,  its  bold  peaks,  and  its  valleys  of  flowers,  and  the 
crystal  waters  that  dripped  so  limpid  to  their  rocky  basin — 
scenes  so  dear  tome — but  pshaw!  how  foolish  I  am  getting! 
Never  be,  child,  as  silly  as  your  aunt." 

"  Never  !  I  promise  you,"  said  Elinor,  with  one  of  her 
quiet  smiles.  "  Go  on,  please." 

"  Great  preparations  were  making  for  our  nuptials.  A 
short  time  previous  to  the  appointed  time,  my  father  was 
obliged  to  go  down  to  Petersburg  to  transact  some  import 
ant  business  (he  always  sold  his  crops  there),  and  I  went 
with  him  in  order  to  attend  to  my  trousseau.  I  was  quite 
in  a  feeze.  Everything  was  pleasant  and  kind  of  dreamy. 
I  will  not  tell  you  that  I  was  beautiful,  because  I  am  telling 
you  a  true  story,  no  fiction  —  no  Amanda  Fitzallen  ad 
ventures  !" 

"  I  do  not  see  why  you  are  not  bound  to  do  yourself  jus 
tice,"  said  Elinor,  "  for  everybody  that  knew  you,  says  you 
were  very  lovely." 

"What  everybody  says,  must,  of  course,  be  true,"  replied 
Mrs.  Lacy,  smiling  so  benignly,  as  she  spoke,  that  her 
hearer,  if  she  had  been  ever  so  skeptical,  would  have 
needed  no  other  proof  to  convince  her,  that  the  proverb 
was  true  in  the  present  case. 


230  MBS.  BBN  DABBV. 

"  So,  as  I  was  saying,"  continued  the  narrator,  "if  I  was 
not  beautiful,  I  was,  at  least,  an  heiress,  which,  you  know, 
is  quite  as  attractive.  It  leaked  out,  by  some  means,  that  I 
was  about  to  be  married  to  young  Lacy,  and  I  soon  became 
the  'observed  of  all  observers.'  I  dressed,  too,  very  plainly 
— yes,  as  plain  as  a  pipe-stem — you  know  I  always  did.  I 
had  my  green  calash  on,  and  a  vail  over  my  face,  sitting  at 
a  recess  window,  at  the  hotel,  waiting  the  appearance  of  my 
father,  who  had  promised  to  be  in  to  conduct  me  to  Mrs. 
Phepoe's  to  purchase  my  wedding  hat.  While  I  sat  indulg 
ing  honied  cogitations,  my  ear  was  captivated  by  the  name 
of  Lacy.  I  instantly  listened  to  the  following  conver 
sation  : 

"  '  Have  you  seen  young  Lacy's  bride?' 

"  '  No  !  is  she  here  ?' 

"  'Yes,  so  it  is  said,'  replied  a  young  lady. 

"  '  Miss  Temple  ?'  asked  the  gentleman. 

"  'Yes,  she  is  very  beautiful !' 

"  '  And  very  rich,  and  that  is  better — at  least  Alfred  will 
find  it  so.  I  hope  he  may.' 

"  '  How  fortunate,  dear,  to  have  such  a  rich  wife  !' 

"  '  Peculiarly  so  !  Our  friend  will  make  up  his  losses  at 
the  races.  I  wish  he  may  marry  her,  for  he  owes  me  a 
round  thousand,  that  he  lost  on  the  old  Pocahontas.' 

"  '  Love,  I  thought  you  never  betted  at  horse-races,' 
whined  the  lady,  in  a  honeymoon  cadence  — '  you  swore 
you  never  did  !' 

"  '  My  dear,  I  never  do,  in  a  general  way  ;  but  the  case 
was  so  plain,  the  temptation  so  strong,  that  I  could -not 
resist.  It  was  obvious,  very  much  so,  to  me,  that  the  nag 
which  was  to  run  against  my  choice,  was  too  heavy  in  the  — ' 


MRS.  BEN  DARBV.  231 

"  '  Pshaw  !'  cried  the  young  wife,  gayly  laying  her  hand 
on  his  lips,  '  I  do  not  wish  to  be  initiated  into  the  myste 
ries  of  horse-racing  !' 

"  '  Forgive  me,  love,  I  will  try  and  not  offend  again.' 

"  'Miss  Temple,'  said  the  lady,  'little  dreams  of  the 
pitfall  before  her.  If  I  was  in  her  place,  I  would  not  let 
my  fortune  go  to  pay  debts  of  honor,  races,  and  scrapes. 
That  young  friend  of  yours,  George,  is  very  dissipated, 
drinks  very  hard — is  he  not  a  real  drunkard  ?' 

"  'You  should  not,  my  angel,  call  a  gentleman,  especially 
a  friend  of  your  husband's,  by  such  names.' 

"  '  A  gentleman  should  never  forget  himself,  then.' 

"  '  It  is  all  nonsense — a  man  cannot  indulge  a  glass  with 
out  being  dubbed  a  toper  !  it  is  villainous !' 

"  'Alfred  Lacy  is,  my  dear,  an  intolerable  drunkard,  and 
you  know  it,'  said  the  lady. 

"  '  He  is  a  fine,  jovial,  high-minded  fellow,  and  if  he  does 
occasionally  take  a  glass  too  much  he  is  none  the  worse 
for  it.' 

"  '  George,  are  you  really  taking  Mr.  Lacy's  part,  or  are 
you  only  teazing  me  ?' 

"  '  Only  teazing  you,  love,  because  you  are  so  opposed  to 
our  enjoying  ourselves  in  our  own  way.' 

"  '  You  may  call  it  your,  I  am  glad  it  is  not  my  way.' 

"  '  So  am  I ;  but  see,  the  carriage  is  at  the  door,  and  it  is 
getting  late.' 

"  I  sat  for  some  moments  perfectly  absorbed  in  thought; 
puzzled  by  the  unexpected  intelligence  I  had  gained — 
pained  and  mortified  beyond  expression." 

"  'How  deceitful  this  world  is,'  said  an  old  gentleman, 
who  had  been  engaged  with  a  pamphlet  at  the  center-table, 


232  MRS.  BEN  DARBV. 

'there  is  not  a  greater  gambler  or  horse-racer  living  than 
George  Smith.' 

"  '  Ah !  indeed,  said  I,  for  I  perceived  the  speaker  was 
addressing  me.' ' 

"  He  had  been  young  Lacy's  greatest  tempter — he  had 
followed  him  with  indefatigable  energy,  and  now,  that  he 
finds  him  struggling  in  the  web  that  he  has  laid  for  him, 
he  sports  over  it ;  the  friendship  of  such  men  counts  very 
little  in  time  of  need.' 

"  '  His  wife  is  a  beautiful  woman,'  said  I, '  and  it  is  to  be 
hoped  she  will  reform  him.' 

"  'Who  ever  heard  of  a  woman  making  her  husband 
sober  !  I  defy  an  angel  to  come  down  from  the  third  Hea 
vens,  and  do  it.  If  a  man,  with  the  help  of  his  reason, 
can't  control  himself,  how  can  you  expect  a  poor,  weak,  con 
fiding  woman  to  manage  him  ;  no,  there  ought  to  be  some 
thing  done  to  protect  such  men  against  themselves.' 

"  '  The  Temperance  Society  is  doing  a  great  deal  in  some 
parts  of  the  country,'  remarked  a  dry-looking  gentleman, 
with  green  spectacles,  '  it  has  been  the  means  of  reforming 
many  in  the  village  I  came  from.' 

"  'Yes,  no  doubt,  and  will  grow  and  expand  until  its  ban 
ners  wave  from  eVery  civilized  point ;  but,  sir,  after  moral 
suasion  has  done  its  best,  there  will  still  be  a  mighty,  I  may 
say,  herculean  work  to  perform.  The  temperance  lecturer 
finds  converts  in  those  men  whose  worth  and  better  feelings 
are  too  radical  to  yield  at  once  to  the  love  of  liquor,  but  are 
comparatively  stupefied  by  its  influence  —  not  entirely 
burnt  out.  Sometimes,  in  my  country,  a  fire  breaks  out  in 
the  prairie  grounds  ;  now,  where  the  bottom  is  rich  and  the 
grass  roots  deep  in  the  soil,  though  the  fire  burns  strong 


MRS.  BEN  DABBY.  233 

and  long,  the  spring  rains  and  the  summer  sun  bring  it  all 
up  again  as  fresh  and  fine  as  ever ;  but  not  so  when  the 
grass  is  wiry,  and  the  soil  loose,  dry  and  porous,  the  fire 
strikes  down  and  blackens  it  to  the  very  quick  ;  just  so  the 
drunkard — a  man  with  good  principles  and  good  natural 
feelings  does  not  part  with  them  in  a  jiffy.' 

"  '  The  habitual  drunkard  lays  himself  open  to  every  temp 
tation  ;  there  is  no  knowing  what  a  man  will  do  when 
drunk  ;  they  dont  know  themselves — how  can  they  ?' 

"  'Well,  friend  Jones,  if  a  man  gets  in  such  a  situation 
as  that  he  ought  to  have  a  check — a  law  to  keep  him 
straight — moral  suasion  has  nothing  to  do  with  brutes  ;  it 
does  influence,  as  I  said  before,  men  who  have  souls.' 

"  I  heard  my  father's  step  along  the  hall,  and  hurried  to 
meet  him  ;  I  left  the  old  gentleman  very  much  interested 
in  the  subject  they  were  discussing  ;  which  got  the  best  of 
the  argument  I  never  knew. 

"  What  I  did  or  said  for  hours  I  have  no  recollec 
tion  of. 

"  The  parlors  were  brilliant  with  lights,  and  crowded 
with  the  gay  and  fashionable;  my  kind  father,  thinking 
to  make  me  happy,  whispered  that  Alfred  Lacy  would  soon 
make  his  appearance.  I  resolved  to  bury  in  my  mind  the 
hateful  discovery  I  had  made  ;  my  word  was  given — I 
would  not  retract,  but  I  determined  to  dedicate  myself  to 
the  restoration  of  his  moral  nature  ;  I  would  pay  his  debts, 
sustain  him — aid — watch  over  him — redeem  him — be  his 
tutelar  angel — cheer  him  through  trial,  perhaps,  degrada 
tion.  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  be  the  wife  of  an  inebri 
ate — I  could  not  call  him  drunkard  ;  no,  there  was  some 
thing  so  disgusting,  so  revolting  in  the  word  drunkard, 
20 


234  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

what  had  it  to  do  in  common  with  the  elegant,  the  refined, 
the  spiritual  lover?  Oh  !  it  was  offensive  to  the  delicacy 
of  woman's  soul.  Alfred  came  ;  he  was  animated  and 
devoted — all  that  I  could  wish  him  to  be.  I  soon  forgot, 
in  his  presence,  in  the  power  of  his  fascination,  the  facts  I 
had  discovered.  We  left  Petersburg,  and  returned  to  the 
mountains. 

"  Everything  was  arranged  for  our  nuptials — even  the 
day  and  the  hour  designated ;  distant  relatives  were  invited, 
and  all  the  wedding  paraphernalia  examined  and  cri 
ticised. 

"  A  few  days  previous  to  the  consummation  '  so  de 
voutly  to  be  wished,'  my  father  was  called  suddenly 
to  a  neighboring  village  to  transact  some  business ;  I 
requested  to  accompany  him  as  I  was  always  in  the  habit 
of  doing ;  at  first  he  objected  to  it,  but  a  few  caresses  won 
his  consent,  and  we  left  on  horseback.  We  were  returning 
gayly  home,  when  my  horse  became  suddenly  very  unruly, 
and  before  I  could  gather  up  my  careless  reins,  he  threw 
me  several  feet  over  his  head,  and  in  my  fall,  my  right 
hand  was  so  sprained  that  I  could  not  use  it  in  any  way." 

"  Poor,  dear  Aunt  Lena,"  said  Elinor,  kissing  her  cheek, 
to  have  such  a  fall,  just  when  you  were  going  to  be  mar 
ried  too  !" 

"  Everything  happens  for  the  best ;  but  I  could  not  con 
ceive  how  that  could  be  for  the  best  while  my  hand  pained 
me  so  ;  but  I  saw  plainly  enough  after  a  while. 

"  My  father  left  me  at  the  little  inn  on  the  road  side — you 
know  the  Cross-Keys  ;  it  was  then  kept  by  Mrs.  Butterfield, 
a  very  good,  kind,  respectable  woman  ;  we  had  known  her 
a  long  time  ;  my  father  promised  to  come  for  me  before 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  235 

breakfast ;  as  it  was  very  cloudy,  he  said  he  was  afraid  to 
drive  the  carriage  after  dark.  My  kind  hostess  declared 
she  would  soon  settle  the  pain  in  my  wrist,  and  keep  me 
safe  and  sound  until  his  return  ;  good  Mrs.  Butterfield  bound 
my  sprain  up  in  a  hollyhock  poultice,  and  after  forcing  me 
to  drink  a  pint  of  'yarb  tea,'  declared  me  in  a  fine  state  of 
convalescence. 

"  The  hollyhock  preparation  did  act  as  a  charm,  and  after 
supper  it  began  to  rain  as  hard  as  it  could  pour.  I  laughed 
and  chatted  with  the  good  old  lady,  who  thought  to  sport 
me  out  of  the  blues  by  talking  about  my  approaching  wed 
ding,  and  telling  me  many  wonderful  occurrences,  which 
went  to  prove  'that  there  was  many  a  slip  between  the  cup 
and  the  lip.' 

"  '  But  I  think,'  says  the  old  lady,  '  of  all  the  sorrowful 
books  I  ever  read,  '  Charlotty  Temple'  beats  all.  Poor 
dear  critter  !  but  didn't  she  suffer  !  If  I  had  been  in  her 
place  I  should  certainly  have  put  a  per'od  to  my  existern.' 

"  Our  conversation  was  here  interrupted  by  a  loud 
commotion  at  the  stable-yard.  My  hostess  looked  alarmed 
— such  yelping  and  whooping  I  suppose  never  was  heard 
in  a  civilized  place. 

"  '  What  is  it  ?'  I  asked,  when  I  saw  Mrs.  Butterfield 
hastily  returning  from  the  window. 

"  '  Why,  nothing  upon  yearth,'  replied  she,  '  but  them 
desperit  fellows  come  back  again.  I  told  them  over  and 
over  again  that  they  should  not  stay  here  ;  but  I  see  they 
are  determined  to  have  their  way.  Go  up,  dear,  to  the  front 
chamber,  and  don't  show  your  face  down  here.  I  will  be 
up  with  you  as  soon  as  I  get  rid  of  these  rowdies.  I  wish 
there  was  a  law  to  keep  them  straight  !' 


236  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

"  I  was  not  long  obeying  orders.  I  glided  rapidly  up  and 
bolted  my  door.  As  I  passed  through  the  entry,  I  caught 
a  glimpse  of  several  figures  disrobing  themselves  of  wet 
hats  and  cloaks. 

"  In  the  days  I  am  speaking  of,  those  little  inns  always 
kept  liquors  of  various  kinds,  which  were  generally  drank 
by  travelers,  and  were  charged  in  the  bill  as  a  necessary 
appendage.  Mrs.  Butterfield  had  always  borne  a  good 
character,  but  according  to  the  custom  of  the  times,  and 
country  she  lived  in,  necessity  compelled  her  to  pursue  the 
same  course.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  my  dear,  they  looked 
upon  drinking  liquor  as  a  matter  of  course.  To  set  out 
the  decanter  to  every  male  visitor  was  not  only  a  custom  in 
the  humbler  walks  of  life,  but  in  the  most  aristocratic  circles, 
with  this  difference — the  wines  and  liquors  were  more  ex 
quisite,  and  they  were  poured  from  a  rich  cut-glass  decanter 
into  precious  goblets ;  but  the  practice  was  the  same,  and  it 
produced  the  same  effects.  Since  the  Temperance  Society 
has  done  away  so  many  of  those  pernicious  fashions,  every 
portion  of  the  country  has  felt  its  beneficial  influence,  and  I 
have  no  doubt " 

"  Never  mind  the  Temperance  Society,  dear  aunt ;  but 
tell  me  what  became  of  you." 

"  Well,  as  I  was  sitting  by  the  light  of  the  huge  pine 
fagot,  that  blazed  on  the  hearth,  turning  over  the  leaves  of 
the  little  book  which  Mrs.  Butterfield  had  loaned  me, 
I  heard  a  tremendous  bustle  below — loud  and  vociferous 
sounds  of  merriment — the  laughing  of  the  negroes  and  the 
barking  of  dogs — cursing,  swearing,  scuffling  and  falling ; 
indeed,  I  cannot  begin  to  tell  you  what  a  compound  of 
multifarious  noises  came  in  alternate  xpeals.  After  some 


MRS.  BEN  DAKBY.  237 

time,  a  servant  brought  me  a  candle  and  some  apples,  with 
her  mistress'  compliments. 

"  'What  has  happened  below,  Patty  ?' 

"  'Nothin',  Miss  Lena,  only  dem  obstropolis  fellows  what 
old  Missis  sent  away  just  afore  you  come.' 

"  '  Who  are  they  ? — what  do  they  want  ?' 

"  '  Law,  Miss  !  dey  is  only  spreeing  it ;  and  Missus  says 
she  does  not  t'ank  them  for  coming  here  drunk,  nohow ; 
and  masrer  gone,  and  marse  Johnny  is  afeard  of  them,  any 
how.  Missus  says  they  is  a  desperit  set,  and  she  has  to 
keep  not  minding  um — dat's  all.'  ' 

"I  began  to  feel  very  uneasy,  and  went  to  the  window 
to  see  how  the  weather  looked.  It  was  very  dark,  and 
the  storm  was  increasing  in  its  violence — one  of  our  moun 
tain  tornadoes.  The  lightning  was  very  vivid  and  frequent, 
showing  at  every  flash  the  dark  mountains  in  the  distance. 
The  roaring  of  the  thunder  was  sometimes  heard  amid  the 
the  uproarious  s6unds  below.  I  thought  of  my  calm, 
peaceful  home,  and,  although  it  was  but  a  few  miles,  it 
seemed  an  immeasurable  distance.  The  storm  increased, 
and  at  every  peal  of  thunder  I  heard  some  wild,  incohe 
rent  expostulation,  some  blasphemous  oaths  addressed  to 
Him  who 

'  Plants  his  footsteps  in  the  sea, 
And  rides  upon  the  storm.' 

Ah  !  my  dear  child,  that  night  I  was  initiated  into  the  vo 
cabulary  of  the  drunkard.  At  last,  for  it  seemed  an  age, 
Mrs.  Butterfield  came  up,  and  hastily  closed  the  door  after 
her  ;  then  drawing  a  long  breath,  she  seated  herself  by  the 
candle-stand  which  stood  between  us. 

"  '  How  sorry  I  am  all  this  has  happened  !  If  it  did  not 
rain  so  hard  I  would  send  for  your  father,' 


238  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

"Just  then  we  heard  some  one  run  up  stairs. 

"  '  Mother  !  mother  !'  cried  John,  pushing  open  the  door, 
'they  will  come  up  —  we  can't  keep  them  down.  They 
swear  they  saw  the  young  lady  at  the  window,  looking  out 
at  the  storm.  Tom  Slaughter  says  she  shall  drink  with 
him.!'  o£r. 

"  '  Give  them  some  of  that  double  ractified  brandy,  that 
your  daddy  brought  up  last  Fourth  of  July — it  will  soon 
settle  their  hash,  and  they  will  roll  over  in  piles — the  drunken 
beasts  !  coming  to  decent  houses  to  cut  up  their  devilment !' 

"  '  They  are  coming  up,  mothei* — what  shall  I  do  ?' 

"  'Strike  them  down,  one  at  a  time  !  Dear  bless  me  !  it 
is  too  bad  !' 

"Johnny  did  as  he  was  ordered — he  struck  down  the  first 
one  that  gained  the  top  step.  We  heard  him  fall. 

"  'Never  mind,"  cried  Mrs.  Butterfield,  '  'Squire  Temple 
shall  hear  of  all  this  to-morrow  !' 

"  '  D 'Squire  Temple  !'  said  a  voice  that  pierced  my 

very  soul,  and  the  next  moment  the  door  was  pushed  wide 
open,  and  in  rushed  two  human  beings,  that  looked  like 
fiends  from  the  lower  regions. 

"  I  raised  up  involuntarily  as  they  came  in,  and  stood 
calmly  awaiting  the  result  of  the  unwelcome  interruption." 

"  Oh  !"  said  Elinor,  "I  certainly  should  have  fainted." 

"  I  never  was  one  of  the  fainting  sort,  darling  ;  but  who 
should  I  recognize  in  one  of  those  bloated,  hideous-looking 
beings  but  Alfred  Lacy — the  fastidious,  the  fashionable 
and  recherche"  ! 

" '  Confound  the  luck — ladies,  your  most  obe-dient,'  cried 
he,  stumbling  forward.  '  Landlady,  where  did  you  start  up 
such  devilish  fine  game  ?' 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  £39 

"'That's  Miss  Temple,'  said  Mrs.  Butterfield ;  'you 
know  well  enough  who  it  is,  and  if  you  lay  the  weight  of 
your  finger  on  her,  you  will  be  sorry — sorry  enough  for 
your  impudence,  I  can  tell  you.' 

"  '  Ah  !  bless  my  stars  ;  I  wish  I  may  be  eternally  bl — 
hie! —  if  ever  I  had  an  idea — hie! — that  I  should  have — hie ! 
— the  ecstatic  pleasure — hie  ! — of  see-hing  Miss  Tern-pel. 
I  wish  I  may  be — hie ! — if  she  is  not  de-velish  superior  to 
what  we  expected.  I  wish  the  lightning  may  turn  me  to  a 
cinder,  if  she  is  not  the  best  looking  girl  in  Amherst  county, 
by  G — hie  !  See,  Slaughter,  here's  the  girl  of  my  heart — 
the  one  I  shall  marry  next  week — hie  ! — if  I  am  not  too 
d — hie  ! — drunk.' 

"  The  companion  he  addressed  had  left  the  room,  at  the 
bidding  of  the  landlady,  and  Alfred  was  swinging  himself 
from  side  to  side  in  the  doorway,  like  a  loose  sign-post  in  a 
storm. 

"He  made  an  attempt,  at  last,  to  approach  me  ;  '  Alfred 
Lacy,'  said  I,  'I  am  ashamed  of  you;  leave  me  instantly.' 

"'No  !  no!  not  so  cruel,  my  lovely  dam-sel — hie  ! — I'll 

go,  if  you  are  so  d hie  ! — particular.  What  if  a  fellow 

is  a  little  snap-ped  ? — only  a  little  corned  ;  not  so  d-drunk, 
but  just  enough  to  make  him  kingly  or  glorious,  my  little 
wife — that  is  to  be !  Now  I  am  proud  to — hie  ! — acknow 
ledge  it.  What  a  lucky  dog  !  Huzza  !  Mrs.  Butterfield — 
I  am  the  boy  in  the  Gap  what  shot  the  robin  !' 

" '  Yes,  and  if  you  don't  put  down  them  stars,  just  as  fast 
as  your  drunken  legs  will  let  you,  I'll  know  why.' 

"' I  will  not  intrude — hie! — I  see  you  are  d hie! — 

aristocratic  to-night,  so  I  wish  you  a  d good  night — I 


240  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

do,  by  thunder !  Don't  be  so  unforgiving,  love  ;  this  is  my 
last  spree.' 

"As  he  left  the  room,  I  mentally  exclaimed,  '  That  is  the 
man  I  have  chosen  for  my  protector  through  a  world  of 
sorrow  and  tribulation  ;  that  is  the  man  that  I  have  prom 
ised  to  take  the  place  of  a  noble,  honest  father;  he  is  se 
lected  as  the  arbiter  of  my  fate — the  foundation  of  my 
earthly  happiness — the  guardian  of  the  goodly  fortune 
which  it  has  pleased  my  Maker  to  bestow  upon  me.  No  ! 
no  !  never !  I  dare  not  risk  it.' 

"Mrs.  Butterfield  and  myself  sat  up  during  the  night,  and 
heard,  from  time  to  time,  the  loud  breathing  of  the  human 
beasts  which  were  scattered  about  the  floors,  too  enfeebled 
to  crawl  to  their  beds.  Groans,  curses,  and  wild  ravings, 
filled  the  measure  of  the  night,  and  as  soon  as  it  was  light, 
my  father  came  for  me.  That  night  left  a  lasting  impres 
sion  on  my  mind ;  they  were  horrible  realities — no  work  of 
the  fancy.  It  all  transpired  before  my  vision.  I  felt  no 
pity — no  moving  of  compassion  for  my  lover,  but  the  most 
loathsome  disgust.  I  felt  debased  at  the  thought  of  ever 
having  had  my  name  linked  in  any  way  with  his.  Oh  ! 
how  all  these  feelings  were  soothed  by  the  benign  reflection 
that  it  was  not  too  late  to  save  myself. 

•'He  wrote  very  penitential  letters,  but  they  were  returned 
with  all  his  favors,  and  only  these  words,  '  I  dare  not 
marry  a  drunkard.' 

"My  father  paid  his  debts,  and  set  him  off  again  in  the 
world,  free.  He  long  since  refunded  the  loan,  with  its  in 
terest." 

"  And  he  has  never  drank  since  ?"  asked  Elinor. 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  241 

"No,  his  frolic  at  old  Butterfield's  was  his  last.  I  have 
seen  him  very  seldom  during  that  time,  but  you  see  how  it 
has  all  worked  around.  To  make  a  finish  of  it,  love,  when 
I  saw  Mr.  Lacy  again,  when  my  father  was  on  his  death 
bed,  I  could  not  but  feel  a  great  deal  for  him,  to  think  how 
he  had  struggled  on  through  all  his  difficulties,  to  subdue 
his  infirmity  ;  I  was  fully  convinced  it  was  my  duty  to  be 
come  his  wife." 

"  I  think  so  too,"  replied  Elinor,  "and  I  am  very  sure 
you  will  never  repent.  He  must  be  thoroughly  changed. 
He  says  he  has  not  drank  a  drop  for  fifteen  years." 

"At  least." 

"  Then  he  has  been  faithful  and  true." 

"  Yes,  but  if  he  should,  by  any  means,  fall  into  his  old 
habits,  what  shall  I  do,  Elinor  ?  I  am  sure  I  could  not  en 
dure  a  drunkard." 

"  I  could  admire  young  Duval,  if  it  was  not  that  I 
suspect  him  of  a  decided  predilection  for  his  cups." 

"  How  can  you  suppose  it,  Elinor  ? — tell  me." 

"  His  wit  is  fascinating  ;  he  is  master  of  the  English  lan 
guage,  and  converses  better  than  any  gentleman  I  know ; 
but  I  tremble  for  fear  that  my  suspicions  are  true." 

"  Tell  me  why." 

"  It  is  quite  impossible  for  me  to  explain  myself.  There 
is  something  about  him  that  whispers  it — something  outre; 
so  like  my  poor,  unhappy  mother ;  an  indescribable  domin 
ion  of  a  secret  spring  pervading  the  whole  nature." 

"  He  is  very  handsome  ;  perhaps  you  have  discovered 
this  since  you  suspicioned  him  of  loving  your  cousin  Kate." 

"  Pshaw  !  you   could  not  accuse  me  of  such  injustice, 
Aunt  Paulina,  beside,  he  chews  cloves,  I  know  he  does." 
21 


242  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

"What  of  that?" 

"  All  drunkards  do — that  have  enough  self-esteem  left  to 
wish  to  conceal  their  hateful  practices.  I  do  abhor  cloves ; 
my  poor  mother  always  kept  them  in  her  mouth.  I  am  de 
termined  never  to  fall  in  love " 

"  You  are  determined  never  to  fall  and  break  your  neck, 
if  you  can  help  it — always  a  mental  reservation." 

"  I  was  going  to  say,  until  I  could  stake  my  life  on  the 
stability  of  my  intended." 

"  Oh  !  poor  pet,  some  day  you  will  wake  and  find  yoiir 
plans  all  fictions,  and  that  it  is  hard  to  be  educated  in 
the  certainties  of  life.  After  all  our  attainments,  we  have 
to  graduate  in  the  school  of  experience." 

"  Some  take  lessons  very  early  in  life.  I  know  I  never 
shall  be  happy  again.  The  miserable  position  in  which  I 
am  placed,  mortifies  and  subdues  me.  No,  I  never  shall  be 
happy." 

"  Never  is  a  long  time,  Elinor." 

"Never  in  this  world,"  added  the  young  girl,  with  a 
faint  smile. 

"  There  is  another  world,  my  child,  a  purer  and  a  better  ; 
that  thought  has  comforted  many  a  heart  far  more  forlorn 
than  yours.  It  comes,  rainbow-like,  in  our  dark  skies, 
stealing  the  mind  from  its  bitterness  of  thought,  and  carry 
ing  it  beyond  time  and  space,  to  ineffable  glory.  It  is 
growing  late  ;  good  night,  dear — pleasant  dreams." 

Good  night,  reader ! 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  243 


22* 


The  purest  treasure  mortal  times  afford, 

Is  spotless  reputation  ;  that  away, 

Men  are  but  gilded  loam,  or  painted  clay. — SHAKSPEAEE. 

IN  a  little  room,  in  the  back  part  of  a  very  indifferent 
boarding  house,  in  Anthony  street,  lay  the  dying  sister  of 
young  Sandford.  When  led  by  the.  strong  arm  of  his  con 
ductor  to  the  room,  he  was  scarcely  sober  enough  to  under 
stand  the  condition  of  things  ;  but  when  the  light  was 
placed  so  its  rays  fell  on  her  face,  he  staggered  toward  the 
bed. 

"  Brother  !  dear  brother  !"  said  the  invalid,  when  her 
heavy  eyes  were  raised  to  his  face,  "  where  have  you  been 
so  long — so  long  !  Oh  I  brother  !" 

"I  came,  Letty,  just  as  soon  as  I  could.  You  are  bet 
ter,  now ;  don't  you  think,  they  tried  to  make  me  believe 
you  were  dying — but  they  couldn't  come  it ! — no  sir  !" 

"  Hush,  George,"  said  his  weeping  mother,  "  have  you 
no  feeling  ?  Oh  !  Heavenly  Father,  let  this  cup  pass — " 

"  Mother,  it  is  no  use — you  can't  carry  it  on.  You  need 
not  get  into  the  theatricals  !  Lyman  Mason  told  me  it  was 
all  a  hoax  !" 

"Brother  !"  gasped  the  convulsed  girl,  "listen  brother — 
it  is  all  true.  I  have  but  a  short  time  to  live —  try  and  be 
yourself.  I  want  to  talk  to  you — I  wish  to  tell  you  of 
heaven  !" 

"  By  heavens  !  I  have  had  talk  enough ;  and  if  you  don't 


244  MKS.  BEN  DARBY. 

think  you'll  die  just  to-night,  I  would  like  to  go  back  and 
finish  that  game  of  whist.  Come,  be  a  kind,  good,  sweet 
girl,  and  say  you  will  not  die  until  to-morrow  —  now  do, 
will  you?" 

Mrs.  Sandford  rushed  to  the  bed,  and  endeavored  to 
drag  him  away,  but  he  flung  her  off,  and,  shaking  her 
rudely,  said,  "Ah  !  old  lady,  you  act  pretty  well  —  but  it 
wont  go  off  as  it  does  at  Burton's.  I  know  what  you  are 
up  to  !" 

"  George,  for  mercy  sake,  leave  your  dying  sister  !" 

"My  dying  sister  is  doing  pretty  well,  I  thank  you, 
madam '." 

"  George  !  George  !"  cried  the  frantic  mother  ;  "  come 
with  me — leave  Letty  alone.  Leave  her  to  die  by  herself — • 
you  know  she  is  dying  !" 

"No  !  no  !  sweet  sister,  I'll  see  you  off;  when  you  are 
ready  to  go,  you  must  whistle  !"  As  he  spoke  in  a  wild, 
broken  voice,  he  leaned  his  haggard  face  over  the  pillow  of 
the  dying  sufferer. 

"  Ah!  brother,"  she  whispered  in  a  low,  quivering  voice, 
"  you  will  think  of  this,  when  I  am  gone  ;  then  your  heart 
will  ache  ;  poor  boy  !  little  dream  you  of  the  end  !"  and 
with  her  weak  hand,  she  parted  the  curls  from  his  brow, 
and  looked  lovingly  into  his  eyes. 

Mrs.  Sandford,  who  had  left  the  room,  returned  with 
assistance. ' 

An  unearthly  scream,  from  the  poor  girl,  drew  them  to 
her  side. 

Who  can  describe  the  horror  of  the  scene  that  presented 
itself  ? 

The  long,  white  arms  of  the  young  girl  were  wreathed 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  245 

around  the  neck  of  the  drunken  brother,  and  her  whole 
frame  writhing  in  the  terrific  throes  of  a  strong  convulsion. 
He,  maddened  by  the  liquor  which  he  had  been  quaffing, 
for  the  last  week,  was  still  impressed  with  the  mental 
fantasy,  that  his  pure,  dying  sister  was  only  trying  to  de 
ceive  him,  and  he  had  been  tickling  her  in  order  to  make 
her  confess  the  ruse. 

They  tore  him  from  her,  and  while  they  were  forcing  him 
to  his  room,  the  doctor  was  summoned,  and  means  were 
resorted  to  in  order  to  effect  relief,  but  all  was  vain  ;  con 
vulsion  succeeded  convulsion,  until  exhausted  nature  would 
bear  no  more.  The  form  relaxed  —  the  slender  arms  lay 
listlessly  across  her  settling  heart  —  her  hair  draped  in 
damp  masses  over  her  brow,  and  her  contorted  features  set 
tled  gradually  into  their  original  placidity.  A  beautiful 
smile,  caught  from  some  whispering  angel,  flitted  like  a 
beam  of  light  over  her  dying  face,  and  raising  her  eyes, 
which  flickered  with  their  last  intelligence,  to  the  agonized 
parent,  whispered,  "Mother,  mother!"  but  so  low,  so 
faint  —  was  it  she  who  spoke  ?  or  was  it  fancy  ?  For  the 
gentle,  the  redeemed,  had  winged  its  flight  through  that 
mysterious  labyrinth  which  separates  us  from  the  spirit- 
land. 

The  wild  screams  of  the  dying  girl  in  a  measure  restored 
the  alienated  senses  of  the  miserable  brother.  He  stole 
back  to  the  room  from  time  to  time,  listening  to  the  parox 
ysms  of  mental  and  bodily  sufferings,  expressed  in  heart 
rending  cries  and  exclamations  ;  then  hurrying  back,  as  if 
fearing  detection,  the  wretched  man  would  bury  his  face  in 
his  hands,  and  tremble  with  the  excited  rage  of  remorse, 
and  imaginary  evils ;  demons  whispering  close  to  his  ear — • 


246  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

serpents  with  fiery  tongues,  hissing  curses  at  him  —  fiends, 
of  hellish  aspect,  prying  in  his  face,  then,  mocking  him  with 
fantastic  grimaces,  and  ludicrous  caresses.  The  lynx-eyed, 
Janus-faced  tormentor,  with  its  nondescript  limbs,  its  nails 
of  fire,  and  its  putrid  breath,  pressing  upon  his  prostrate 
form,  and  drawing  the  hot  blood  from  his  throbbing  tem 
ples — then  dragging  him  down  interminable  precipices, 
where  crowds  of  human  skeletons  were  performing  hideous 
and  uncouth  gymnastics — drops  of  cold  perspiration  stood 
like  beads  upon  his  brow,  while  burning  coals  of  living  fire 
consumed  the  very  fluid  of  existence.  Then  came  a  lucid 
interval,  and  his  reviving  consciousness  restored  the  mem 
ories  of  the  late  evening.  Consciousness  of  his  brutal  and 
extravagant  conduct,  was  fully  comprehended ;  he  was 
entirely  overcome,  and  sank  into  a  profound  apathy,  which 
lasted  until  the  remains  of  the  departed  loved  one  was  clad 
in  the  habiliments  of  death. 

Young  gentleman,  if  you  have  ever  abused  the  precious 
gifts  of  your  Maker,  reflect !  Perhaps,  as  you  read  this, 
you  may  consider  it,  at  first  view,  a  picture  of  the  fancy — 
one  too  highly  colored,  or  too  extravagantly  drawn.  If  you 
will  but  reflect  upon  it  impartially,  you  will  be  constrained 
to  confess  that  the  artiste  is  indeed  cold,  very  cold,  in  her 
delineations.  Consider,  for  a  moment,  the  perfection  of 
man's  faculties,  the  delights  and  exercises  of  the  mind  and 
heart,  when  uncorrupted,  as  offered  by  the  hand  which 
formed  him — this  earth,  with  its  fairy  blessedness  ;  its  gar 
dens  of  delight;  its  arbors  of  domestic  love;  its  temples  of 
science;  the  aspirations  of  its  intellect;  the  Eden  of  its  affec 
tions,  and  the  throne  of  worship  to  its  Architect !  If  this 
be  time,  is  not  the  violator  of  its  laws  an  inconsistent 


MBS.  BEN  DARBY.  247 

creature  ?  Is  not  the  drunkard  a  problem  ?  Is  not  his 
course  through  life  a  strange  one  ? — when  he  might  walk 
along  the  green  fields,  beneath  the  blessed  sun-light  of  his 
wise,  provident,  and  indulgent  Maker  ? 

It  is  midnight !  Young  Sandford  steals  like  a  fiend  from 
his  room — yes,  a  fiend;  but  strange  to  say,  he  walked  up 
right,  and  in  the  image  of  God.  He  passes  with  impre 
cations,  his  wretched,  and  exhausted  mother,  who  watches 
alone,  the  beloved  corpse. 

His  vision  is  turned  to  one  spot — a  white  muslin  curtain 
shrouded  it  from  his  view.  Sympathy  shudders  at  the 
spectacle,  and  he  scoffs  at  its  electric  influence. 

Yes,  he  pollutes  the  sanctuary  of  the  dead  with  his 
presence  ;  like  the  genius  of  guilt,  he  lingers  about  the 
bier,  but  is  afraid  to  raise  the  vail  that  conceals  the  silent 
form.  Trembling  in  every  limb,  he  quails  beneath  the 
purity  of  her  maiden  bed;  he  dares  not  draw  aside  the 
curtain,  but  heaven  assists  him — a  strong  breeze  from  the 
broken  window-pane,  wafts  aside  the  slender  tissue,  and 
death  reveals  itselt  in  beautiful,  yet  horrible  reality,  to  the 
cowardly  culprit.  There  lay  the  spotless  shrine,  but  the 
sanctified  spirit  had  wended  its  way  upward — upward,  to 
the  home  of  the  angels  !  He  sees  the  smooth  brow ;  the 
motionless  lips  ;  the  long  dark  eyelashes,  laid  in  everlasting 
repose  upon  the  blanched  cheek.  He  sees  the  little  white 
jessamine  blossoms,  that  had  so  long  been  flowering  on  the 
crumbling  window-sill,  lying  among  the  twisted  folds  of 
her  hair — a  frail,  tender,  yet  immolated  emblem  of  the 
dead!  Bitterly  he  gazes,  until  his  mind  travels  back 
over  the  past.  She  was  the  counterpart  of  his  being  ; 
they  opened  their  eyes  to  the  same  beam  of  day  ;  they 


248  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

slumbered  in  the  same  cradle  ;  were  nurtured  at  the  same 
fountain ;  sported  on  the  same  greensward  ;  hand  in  hand 
they  journeyed  through  the  path  of  childhood,  the  first 
steps  of  youth ;  offered  their  prayers  at  the  same  altar. 
Thus  it  went  on,  until  a  shadow  fell  between  them — it 
widened — it  darkened,  until  a  gulf  parted  them — the  deep, 
deep  abyss  of  sin  and  pollution.  While  the  seeds  of  moral 
virtue  were  fructuating  unto  full  fruition,  in  the  genial  soil 
of  her  mind ;  his  lost,  day  by  day,  their  powers  of  healthy 
growth,  and  dwindled  into  a  supineness,  unaffected  by  any 
agent  but  the  influences  of  the  enchanted  cup.  Yes,  he 
looks,  and  his  perverted  nature  maddens  at  the  sight — 
hope  flies  his  presence — there  is  no  hereafter  so  black  and 
turbid  as  his  own  soul — despair  seizes  him — one  dark  pur 
pose  takes  possession  of  his  mind — onward  he  goes  upon 
his  horrid  mission.  There  is  nothing  on  earth,  in  sea,  or  air 
that  claims  a  thought;  the  suggestion  of  guilt  and  madness, 
has  full  dominion  of  his  unguarded  reason.  He  seeks  the 
home  of  slighted  trust — of  infamy  and  ruin.  The  weep 
ing  mother  is  bathing  the  burning  brow  of  her  infant.  It 
is  dying  —  that  first,  solitary  pledge  of  unblessed  love. 
Cold  —  cold  blows  the  night  wind,  drifting  the  frost 
through  the  shattered  casement,  and  the  broken  roof.  It 
is  past  midnight — there  are  no  friends  there — no  physician. 
There  is  no  Bible  there — no  comforts — the  law  has  seized 
all — and  fast  goes  the  spirit  of  that  babe  to  its  God.  And 
she  the  young — the  erring  one — thick  fall  her  burning 
tears.  Famished,  and  shivering,  alone  with  the  dying  and 
her  God — in  that  awful  hour,  memory  points  to  her  rustic 
home — mother  !  father  ! — bitter  memories.  So  goes  that 
innocent  to  Him  who  gave  it  being,  and  redeemed  it  with 


MBS.  BEN  DARBT.  249 

his  blood  upon  the  cross.  Can  it  be,  that  even  in  that 
hour — so  solemn,  so  sacred — the  fiend  enters  ?  Yes,  again 
into  the  presence  of  death,  he  staggers — his  curse  echoes 
over  the  quivering  features  of  his  dying  infant.  The  un 
conscious  murderer  looks  at  his  work.  She,  the  broken 
hearted,  will  soon  follow,  for  the  worm  is  at  the  core  of  the 
flower.  He  finds  around  him,  look  which  way  he  may, 
the  embodiment  of  hell.  Returning  reason,  tells  him  of 
the  mother,  from  whose  heart  he  had  plucked  that  flower — 
its  only  flower — he  thinks  of  the  violet  eyes  of  that  babe, 
when  they  first  opened  to  the  light.  The  past,  the  present, 
crowd  upon  him — such  black  memories  move  his  spirit. 
He  lays  his  purse  and  his  watch  upon  the  tottering  table. 
He  smiles  grimly  upon  the  wanderings  of  the  dying  child — 
curls  his  lips  with  scorn,  at  the  writhing  features  of  the  weep 
ing  mother — then  quaffs  again  to  the  dregs,  the  fatal  cup, 
and  hurries  out.  He  seeks  the  water's  edge— it  is  past 
midnight — a  universe  of  religion  and  loveliness  is  above 
his  head — the  bright  world  of  azure  overhangs  all,  as  with 
a  blessing.  He  staggers  on  with  a  curse  —  he  heeds 
them  not — the  stars  seem  to  entreat  him.  The  gentle 
moon  breathes  purity — the  hush  of  the  scene  bids  him 
reflect  upon  its  Author,  and  his  own  destiny.  The  wide 
bay  sleeps  gently  as  childhood.  One  wild  shriek — a 
splash — and  all  is  still  again.  The  light  of  the  morning 
reveals  the  end  on  earth,  of  this  confirmed,  yet  youthful 
drunkard! 

His  body  was  rescued  from  the  waves,  and  laid  in  the 
robes  of  death,  by  the  side  of  his  sister,  to  slumber  until 
the  resurrection.  They  were  buried  together — the  pure 
and  impure — the  guilty  and  the  innocent. 


250  MBS.  BEN  DARBY. 

Thus  passed  away  that  God-like  intellect  from  the 
theater  of  action.  Yet,  strange  to  say,  that  being  is  a 
representative  of  a  great  portion  of  this  civilized  and  intel 
lectual  country,  whose  thousands  of  churches  point  heaven 
ward —  where  the  revelation  of  God  exists — where  the 
arts  flourish,  and  where  science  walks  the  very  pavements 
pf  the  sky. 

This  is  the  picture  of  the  young  drunkard.  It  is  true — 
no  phantasm  of  the  brain — hundreds  such  as  he,  are 
seen  lying  in  the  gutters  and  streets,  or  carousing  on  its 
highways. 

Oh!  young  gen  tie  man! 

"  Look  thou  not  upon  the  wine  when  it  is  red.  When  it 
giveth  his  color  in  the  cup.  When  it  moveth  itself  aright." 

"  At  the  last,  it  biteth  like  a  serpent  and  stingeth  like  an 
adder." 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  251 


Cjupttr  23. 

Buttercups  and  daisies, 

Oh!  the  pretty  flowers, 
Coming  ere  the  spring-time 

To  tell  of  sunny  hours. — MART  HOWMT. 

"WHERE  did  you  get  those  beautiful  flowers?"  asked 
ElinDr,  as  she  sat  watching  Hannah,  who  was  pulling  to 
pieces  a  huge  bouquet  and  arranging  them  to  suit  her  own 
fancy  in  the  rich  vases  on  the  center-table. 

"  That  would  be  telling,"  replied  that  notable  personage, 
with  a  smile. 

"A  secret ! — I  ask  pardon." 

"  That  is  a  most  splendid  rose,  Miss  Elinor,"  said  Han 
nah;  "only  see  how  full  and  snowy  it  looks — for  all  the 
world  like  a  bride  in  winter,  pale  and  sweet." 

"  Be  a  good  girl,  Hannah,  and  tell  me  where  you  got 
them." 

"At  Fulton  market,  dear;  they  were  a  present  from  a 
gentleman." 

"Ah,  indeed!" 

"A  gentleman  of  taste  !"  said  Hannah,  holding  up  a 
flower. 

"Undoubtedly!"  cried  Elinor.  "How  fresh  and  fra 
grant  !" 

"  See  these  beautiful  Touch-me-nots — or  no,  I  mean  For 
get-me-nots,"  continued  Hannah,  laughing. 


252  MRS.  BEN  DABBY. 

"  Quite  a  different  signification,"  said  Elinor. 

"I  will  put  them  on  your  toilet-table — ain't  they  charm 
ing—delightful?" 

"Nothing  could  be  prettier!     Thank  you,  Hannah." 

"  Says  he,  when  he  gave  them  to  me,  says  he,  '  Hannah, 
do  you  know  the  name  of  those  flowers?'  '  Surely,  I  do/ 
says  I ;  '  why,  you  must  fancy  something  green  to  ask  me 
such  a  question — be-sure,  and  they  are  Johnny -jumpups  !' 
Well,  I  wish  you  could  have  heard  him  laugh.  '  Miss 
Elinor  used  to  call  them  Forget-me-nots,'  said  he."  Han 
nah  looked  slyly  and  mischievously  at  the  young  girl. 

"  How  did  he  know  what  I  called  them?"  asked  Elinor, 
eagerly. 

"  He  saw  you  on  the  boat — on  the  New  World." 

"  Theodore  Harper!"  said  Elinor,  drawing  nearer  to  the 
table  and  bending  over  the  flowers  to  inhale  their  fra 
grance  ;  "I  know  it  must  be  Theodore." 

"Aren't  they  sweet?"  asked  Hannah. 

"  Yes;  but  tell  me,  Hannah — was  it  Theodore?" 

"  No  more,  nor  less — '  as  large  as  life  and  quite  as  natu 
ral,'  "  replied  Hannah ;  "he  has  returned  to  the  city — he 
is  going  to  attend  the  medical  lectures,  and  has,  I  do  affirm, 
quite  a  healing  air  of  his  own — -it  is  enough  to  cure  one  of 
the  jaundice  to  look  at  him.  He  is,  I  know,  just  as  good 
as  he  ever  was,  and  a  little  more  so — just  as  kind  and 
thoughtful.  Don't  you  think!  dear,  that  he  has  been  to 
see  father  and  mother,  and  he  says  it  does  his  heart  good 
to  see  them  living  like  Christians — having  family  prayers 
and  taking  the  newspapers.  He  went  with  father  to  a  tem 
perance  meeting,  and  was  so  well  pleased,  that  the  old  man 
made  a  short  speech  and  gave  in  his  experience." 


MRS.  BEN  DABBY.  253 

"  Is  he  handsomer  than  he  was?"  asked  Elinor. 

"  I  can't  see  as  he  is — he  dresses  very  nice  and  plain — 
none  of  your  fling-a-me-jings,  but  a  real,  proud,  aristocra 
tic  look,  and  Avears  his  face  as  slick  as  a  smoothing-iron. 

"  Then,  he  talks  like  a  book — I  mean,  a  book  that  can 
be  understood.  Says  I,  '  Mr.  Harper,  I  suppose  you  will 
come  and  see  us  old  friends  ?'  '  Perhaps  it  may  have  been 
out  of  sight  out  of  mind,'  says  he  ;  '  I  never  forget  my 
friends,  but  perhaps  they  have  all  forgotten  me ;  however, 
I  must  get  my  profession  first  and  then  come  more  pleasur 
able  pursuits.' 

"  '  So  you  are  learning  to  kill  and  cure?'  said  I — '  to  be 
a  physician  ?  Well,  I  '11  try  and  coax  up  some  disease,' 
says  I,  '  so  I  can  judge  of  your  ability.'  Then  he  laughed 
again  and  looked  so  much  like  he  used  to,  that  I  could  not 
help  saying :  '  La !  Mr.  Harper !  you  are  the  very  same  old 
seven-and-sixpence !' 

"  'All  but  the  hod,  Hannah  !' 

"  '  Don't  mention  it,'  said  I.  So,  dear,  I  have  told  you 
all  about  it." 

"  Did  he  tell  you  where  he  had  been,  and  what  he  had 
been  doing?" 

"  He  has  been  to  New  Orleans  and  Texas,  and  the  West 
Indies,  and  then  round  by  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  then — 
Oh,  my  gracious !  I  have  forgotten — half  down  the  Hud 
son  on  the  New  World !"  and  Hannah  laughed  in  her  jovial 
quiet  way.  "What  he  has  been  doing  is  another  thing.  I  did 
not  feel  authorized  to  inquire ;  '  modesty  is  a  quality  that 
highly  adorns  a  woman.'  I  expect,  however,  he  has 
been  studying  mathematics,  Greek,  Hebrew,  and  all  the 
sciences — metaphysics,  and  humanology,  and  so  forth." 


254  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

"How  did  you  make  all  these  discoveries?"  asked  Eli 
nor,  with  a  glowing  cheek. 

"  A  man  is  half  known  when  you  see  him — when  he 
speaks  you  know  him  outright.  It  is  easy  enough  to  see 
he  has  been  trying  to  make  a  man  of  himself;  but  I  struck 
him  up  in  a  heap  when  I  said :  '  I  suppose,  you  have  heard 
Miss  Temple  was  married?'  Says  I,  '  she  has  done  well.' 
'  I  hope  so/  says  he ;  '  she  was  always  a  fine,  dear, 
little  girl.' 

"  '  Oh !  I  don't  imagine  that  it  is  supposed  I  meant  Miss 
Elinor,'  says  I. 

"  '  Miss  Paulina?'  says  he ;  '  Oh,  yes !  I  never  dreamed 
of  her  marrying.'  ': 

"  Did  he  send  me  these  flowers  ?"  asked  Elinor,  in  a  tre 
mulous  voice. 

"  No,  dear,  he  did  not.  He  bought  them  from  a  poor 
little  girl,  to  get  rid  of  her — he  gave  them  to  me  in  order 
to  get  rid  of  them." 

"And  he  looks  well?"  asked  Elinor. 

"Very  well,  dear." 

"You  know,  Hannah,  he  never  was  a  beauty,"  said 
Elinor,  with  a  faint  smile. 

"  '  Pretty  is  as  pretty  does,'  "  rejoined  the  girl,  brushing 
a  cobweb  from  the  mantlepiece,  as  she  carefully  placed  her 
flowers  to  be  admired  and  discussed. 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  255 


25. 


LADY  P.    so  that  in  speech,  in  gait, 

In  diet,  in  affections  of  delight, 
In  moulding  rules,  humors  of  blood, 
He  was  the  mark,  glass,  copy,  and  hook 
That  fashioned  others. SHAKSPEARE. 

CLARENCE  DTJVAL  continued  his  visits  at  Mr.  Temple's, 
and  became  so  interested  in  their  society,  and  that  of  the 
Fairmonts,  that  his  old  companions  complained  of  neglect ; 
every  endeavor  to  entice  him  back  to  his  old  habits  proved 
abortive.  When  it  was  announced  that  he  had  become  a 
member  of  the  Temperance  Society,  and  had  enchanted  a 
large  and  enlightened  audience  with  his  eloquence  upon  the 
subject,  his  old  cronies  gave  him  up  in  despair. 

In  vain  they  had  beset  his  evening  path — his  noon-day 
walks ;  in  vain  they  had  marked  his  out-goings  and  his  in 
comings;  hovering,  like  spirits  of  darkness,  over  the  frail 
and  tempted,  as  greedy  for  their  prey  as  the  starved  vul 
ture  that  pounces  upon  the  entangled  lamb  struggling  for 
its  freedom,  they  had  beset  him  in  every  form,  but  the 
counter-charm  to  their  efforts  was  more  powerful  in  its 
influence,  at  least  for  the  time  being. 

The  stay  which  held  him  in  the  bounds  of  temperance  and 
sobriety  was  the  anchor  of  hope,  launched  among  the  un 
certain  moorings  of  love.  He  had  become  so  deeply 
enamored  of  Kate  Fairmont,  that  all  former  loves  and  pro 
pensities  were  forgotten,  or  laid  by  for  the  present. 


256  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

Clarence  Duval  possessed  so  many  advantages  above 
the  ordinary  attainments  of  young  gentlemen,  even  of  his 
standing  in  society,  that  it  was  almost  impossible  to  imagine 
that  temptation  to  evil,  in  any  form,  could  seduce  him  from 
his  high  and  brilliant  course  ;  his  talents  were  forcing  them 
selves  upon  public  attention — his  harangues,  or  stump 
speeches  were  almost  electrifying  ;  his  temperance  lectures 
potent,  pathetic,  and  converting  ;  his  conversational  powers 
incomparable  ! 

His  friends  looked  a-head,  and  pointed  out  the  goal  of 
his  glorious  career.  A  young  man  with  such  gifts  and 
such  prospects  would  necessarily  be  a  successful  lover  ;  he 
had  every  qualification  to  captivate  the  heart ;  Kate  loved 
him  with  all  the  enthusiasm  of  her  nature,  and  in  the 
strength  and  purity  of  her  heart.  She  loved  him,  as  the 
pious  worshiper  of  Christ  ever  loves,  firmly,  and  for 
ever  ! 

Her  friends  were  pleased  and  proud  of  the  connection, 
and  if  Mrs.  Fairmont  had  her  fears  creeping  over  her  heart, 
like  threads  of  ice,  and  turned  from  the  calm  face  of  her 
trusting  child,  to  conceal  the  shudder,  yet  she  prayed  and 
awaited  the  finale. 

Why  should  she  have  tears  ?  he  was  so  noble  in  his 
nature — so  honorable  in  all  his  proceedings — so  aspiring — 
so  far  above  suspicion  or  mistrust.  So  he  was  apparently; 
but  one  dram-seller  can  convert  three  thousand  such  sons 
of  promise  in  a  year.  Intemperance  has  leveled  as  many 
of  the  talented  as  the  simple — handsome  as  the  ill-favored  ; 
if  it  preyed  only  upon  the  low,  vulgar,  licentious  monstrosi 
ties  of  the  human  species,  it  would  not  carry  its  devastation 
into  every  grade  of  life  ;  but,  alas  for  earth  !  it  falls  upon  all 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  267 

who  come  within  its  banned  circle,  like  the  plague-spot, 
carrying  misfortune,  sorrow  and  death  into  every  Eden  that 
it  enters.  It  is  a  poison,  whose  virus  not  only  corrupts  the 
entrails  of  the  imbiber,  but,  through  him,  affects  with  its 
malignity  the  innocent  and  pure,  that  cling,  and  must  feel 
his  pestilence  ;  it  blackens  and  humiliates  the  proud ;  it 
brings  vapidity  to  the  active  — weakness  to  the  strong — 
deformity  to  beauty — and  madness  to  the  intellectual.  It 
affects  every  portion  of  society  ;  it  creeps  into  the  cottage 
and  the  hamlet,  bringing  terror  and  dismay  to  sporting 
childhood.  City  police  records  exhibit  disgusting  enor 
mities  of  crime,  that  neither  man  or  woman  could  commit 
but  under  its  demonizing  effects  ;  it  overhangs  the  prison 
walls  like  a  shroud  ;  it  is  upon  the  highways  and  the  by 
ways — upon  the  rivers  and  the  high  seas.  What  caused 
the  tumult  on  that  graceful  craft  that  pointed  to  the  west, 
stretching  her  full  canvas  homeward ;  it  was  the  voice  of 
discord — the  cry  of  "  mutiny;"  they  were  rejoiced  with  the 
thought  of  land — of  home ;  the  captain  drinks  a  bumper  to 
his  lady -wife,  and  the  seamen,  to  mistresses  and  sweethearts 
in  port ;  hilarity  ensues — the  potion  is  doubled — the  liquor 
passes  freely ;  poor  Jack  sells  himself  to  the  common 
leveler.  His  wife  will  look  for  him  at  the  ocean  outlet, 
until  hope  wearies,  and  the  little  one  she  holds  in  her  arms, 
when  asked  for  his  father,  will  point  to  the  rolling  waves  ; 
his  father  has  fallen  from  his  sea-rocked  shrouds  4o  a 
watery  grave. 

Drunkards,  this  is  the  idol  of  your  devotion  ;  it  steals 

from  your  frame  health  and  manliness,  agility  and  nerve  ; 

it  demoralizes  your  inner  man,  and  unfits  you  for  every 

duty  of  life  ;  cuts  you  off  from  all  sympathy  or  love  with 

22 


258  MBS.  BEN  DARBY. 

man  or  woman — places  you  alone  on  a  desolate  rock,  to 
perish,  uncared  for  and  unlamented. 

Ought  not  every  individual,  who  is  too  feeble  in  his  na 
ture  to  grapple  with  this  evil — to  resist  this  foe  to  human 
happiness — ought  he  not  to  be  guarded  and  secured  against 
its  invasions  ?  Ought  not  his  country  to  defend  him  in  this 
defenseless  state  ?  If  a  man  is  trying  to  escape  from  sla 
very,  is  not  some  hand  ready  to  ward  off  the  advancing 
foe  ?  If  a  man  is  insane  and  outrageous,  is  he  allowed  to 
prowl  loose  in  society  ?  No,  he  is  confined — his  preroga 
tives  curtailed  ;  he  is  restrained  by  force.  Should  not  the 
maddened  inebriate  have  some  consideration  ?  If  he  can 
not  restrain  himself,  ought  not  the  law  to  do  it  in  some 
way  ?  What  avails,  at  present,  suavity  of  words  or  kind 
acts,  with  those  who  have  lost  all  self-esteem — all  honesty 
of  purpose  ?  The  confirmed  tippler  is  proof  against 
the  warmest  wooings  of  a  world  of  benevolence.  Let  the 
law  befriend  him.  The  law  alone  can  do  it — and  the 
law  will  do  it — so  mote  it  be. 

"  Clarence  Duval  will  not  be  a  sober  man  six  months 
after  his  marriage,"  said  Symes  to  Herman  Frazier,  as  they 
were  sitting  over  their  champagne. 

"No,  not  three,"  was  the  response. 

"  Perhaps  during  the  honeymoon." 

"  We  must  recruit,  Symes !" 

"•5Tes,  our  numbers  are  falling  off,"  said  Symes,  mourn 
fully.  "  Poor  Sandford  !  his  was  a  sad  catastrophe  ;  very 
melancholy — very." 

"  Miss  Fairmont  is  rich  ;  I  am  glad  of  it ;  Clarence  will 
come  back  to  us  full-handed." 

"  She  is  very  beautiful,  too  ;  I  love  to  tease  Duval." 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  259 

"  Not  half  as  glorious  a  looking  woman  as  that  grave 
Miss  Temple,"  said  Symes. 

"  Grave  !"  repeated  Frazier  ;  "  it  is  sheer  pride  and  aris 
tocracy.  Never  mind,  I  will  make  her  suffer  a  few  yet,  in 
this  world,  for  cold  looks  and  lofty  behavior.  She  can't 
slight  me  with  impunity." 

"  What  did  she  do  ?"  asked  Symes. 

"  I  have  met  her  several  times  since  Clarence  introduced 
us,  but  she  is  very  stiff ;  and  what  makes  me  so  revengeful 
is  this :  she  is  always  so  composed,  I  can't  alarm  her  by  my 
impudence,  or  flurry  her  with  my  assurance.  She  never 
sees  me  or  hears  me  but  with  cool  indifference  ;  it  makes  a 
fellow  feel  so  insignificant." 

"  You  did  not  wish  her  to  fall  in  love  with  you  ?"  asked 
Symes. 

"  No,  but  I  wanted  common  courtesy.  I  offered  to  see 
her  home,  the  other  afternoon  ;  she  said,  '  I  decline  your 
offer,  sir,  as  I  have  some  little  trifles  of  business  to  attend 
to — not  very  important — but  sufficiently  so  to  prevent  minor 
claims  on  my  attention.'  Since  then  I  met  her  in  a  book 
store.  As  soon  as  I  came  in,  she  was  taken  with  a  leaving. 
I  hurried  up  Broadway,  and  overtook  her  just  before  the 
Astor  House.  Said  I,  making  my  most  exquisite  bow, 
'  Good  morning,  Miss  Temple.'  " 

"'Good  afternoon,  sir,'  she  replied,  looking  very  se 
riously  in  my  face.  '  Do  you  find  your  hat  very  oppres 
sive,  sir  ?'  " 

"  I  found,  by  George,  I  had  come  off,  in  my  hurry,  with 
out  my  hat,  bringing  with  me  '  The  Flag  of  Our  Union.' 
I  went  back  after  my  hat,  and  when  I  returned,  I  found 
her  getting  in  the  omnibus." 


260  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

"  Never  be  in  a  hurry,  Frazier,  especially  when  you  are 
a  little  tight." 

"I  had  not  taken  a  drop  too  much." 

"Just  enough  to  make  your  head  too  big  for  your  hat," 
said  his  friend,  laughing. 

"No  such  thing — I  was  not  drunk,  but  that  grave  beauty, 
as  you  call  her,  shall  look  graver  before  I  am  done  with 
her.  Clarence  Duval  is  not  better  than  we  are,  if  he  does 
belong  to  the  Temperance  Society.  Elinor  Temple  shall 
never  forget  me." 

How  faithfully  he  fulfilled  his  vow,  will  be  found  in  an 
other  chapter. 


MRS.  BEN  DAKBT.  261 


Cluster  25, 


-Affairs  that  walk 


(As  they  say  spirits  do)  at  midnight,  have 
In  them  a  wilder  nature,  than  the  business 
That  seeks  dispatch  by  day. — HKNET  vm,  ACT  V. 

IT  is  a  glorious  night ;  the  moon  smiles  upon  the  quiet 
•waters,  and  the  stars  are  out  thick  upon  the  vaulted  sky. 
The  wind  is  clear  and  cutting,  for  winter  has  taken  up  his 
quarters  in  the  autumnal  haunts.  The  world  is  out  seeking 
pleasure,  gayety  and  comfort.  The  churches  are  refilling,  and 
hymns  of  praise  rise  in  a  mighty  column  to  the  throne  of 
earth's  immaculate  Creator.  The  saloons  are  crowded  with 
the  hungry  and  the  sensual ;  the  parks  are  thronged  with 
the  gay,  the  happy,  the  famished,  and  the  guilty — some 
exchanging  honied  words — some  whispering  the  long  pent- 
up  curses  of  revenge — others  are  seeking  relief  for  their 
overcharged  lungs,  drawing  in  the  breath  of  heaven,  that 
has  almost  lost  its  purity  since  it  left  the  reservoir  of  the 
skies,  and  passed  through  the  long,  narrow  lanes  of  human 
exhalation  ;  but  still  it  is  better  than  the  putrid  malaria  of 
the  cellars  in  Mulberry  and  Center,  or  the  open  localities 
of  the  "  Five  Points,"  or  the  Old  Brewery. 

A  figure  was  sitting  on  the  steps  of  the  Hall.  Her  tall, 
shivering  form  was  enveloped  in  a  cloak,  which,  from  ap 
pearances,  must  have  seen  hard  service  or  strange  abuse. 
Whether  it  had  been  created  for  man  or  woman  originally, 


262  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

was,  at  the  time  we  speak  of,  a  riddle,  for  it  was  so  tattered 
and  deformed,  so  warped  and  disproportioned  by  its  repara 
tions,  that  it  had  lost  the  form  of  a  cloak.  She  wore  an 
old-fashioned  straw  hat,  with  faded  ribbons,  and  crushed 
artificial  flowers.  Her  hair  was  gray,  but  showed  that  it 
had  once  been  carroty,  and  hung  in  bunches  of  crisped 
curls  over  her  dark,  sinister  eyes.  She  sat,  muttering  to 
herself,  and  swinging  her  head  backward  and  forward,  like 
one  in  a  trance. 

You  might  have  seen  at  a  glance  that  disease  and  sorrow 
"had  made  her  summer  pass  away."  She  could  not  have 
been  more  than  forty-five,  yet  she  was  sixty,  at  least,  in 
appearance,  she  was  so  worn  and  faded.  All  the  evil  pas 
sions  had  left  their  shadows  upon  her  countenance,  and  her 
smile  was  that  of  a  ghoul. 

There  were  two  men  sitting  a  short  distance  from  her, 
but  no  one  would  have  supposed  they  were  at  all  interested 
in  each  other. 

One  of  those  men  still  retained  traces  of  manly  beauty 
about  his  forehead  and  form,  but  his  purple  nose,  watery 
eyes,  and  ulcerated  cheek,  together  with  his  imbecility  of 
countenance,  told  his  history — the  long,  long  dark  struggles 
of  his  nature,  and  his  final  ruin. 

Habitual  intemperance  was  marked  in  indelible  charac 
ters  upon  his  face  and  person. 

What  wait  they  for  ?  To  beg  alms,  or  to  pick  pockets  ? 
No,  they  are  watching  the  return  of  Mr.  Lacy,  and  the  two 
young  ladies,  Kate  and  Elinor.  The  old  woman  is  a  tool, 
employed  to  decoy  Elinor  to  one  of  the  low  boarding- 
houses  near  the  "  Five  Points ;"  the  two  men  had  promised 
to  assist  her  for  a  "  first-rate  smash." 


MRS.  BEN  DARBT.  263 

The  cry  of  "  fire  !  fire  !"  A  crowd  rushes  through  the 
park.  The  cry  resounds  from  every  side.  Every  street 
disgorges  itself  into  Broadway  ;  they  press  through  every 
gate  of  the  Park.  The  engines  rattle  over  the  pavements ; 
the  masses  roll  together ;  the  Bowery  boys  cut  down  every 
thing  before  them,  screaming  with  the  racket  of  their  en 
gines  in  their  own  way,  which  is  decidedly  peculiar.  The 
Park  theater  is  on  fire,  and  everybody  is  there  to  see  it ! 
The  whole  Park  was  a  scene  of  confusion  and  riot.  Chil 
dren  were  knocked  down  ;  fat  men  pushed  out  of  breath  ; 
women  fainted  or  screamed  ;  dogs  trampled  to  death  ;  coat- 
tails  cut  off,  and  pockets  picked. 

A  fine  looking  young  man,  with  a  generous  moustache, 
stepped  closely  to  the  old  dame,  on  the  steps  of  the  Hall 
of  Record,  and  said,  "  They  are  coming — keep  out  a  sharp 
eye — here,  right  by.  It  is  the  tallest  one,  with  the  white 
feather  and  the  black  mantle." 

The  streets  were  still  full ;  the  park  crowded  ;  still  they 
come,  still  they  gathered  ;  still  the  rushing  fires  spread  over 
the  building.  The  flames  threw  their  long,  brilliant  wreaths 
over  the  tops  of  the  trees,  until  the  Museum,  St.  Paul's,  and 
the  Astor  House,  refracted  the  light  in  refulgent  rays.  The 
firemen  worked  ;  the  water  reached  every  part  of  the  build 
ing,  but  the  angry  element  devoured  its  lofty  roof,  then 
sunk  in  a  general  crash.  A  flood  of  sparks  starred  the  at 
mosphere,  and  fell  in  showers  upon  the  trees,  and  the 
herbage  of  the  pleasure-ground.  Nothing  was  left,  but 
the  statue  of  Shakspeare,  which  stood  aloft  among 
the  ruins,  unscathed  by  the  devouring  flames.  Like  the 
immortality  of  its  great  prototype,  it  stands  alone — im 
perishable  ! 


264  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

When  the  first  rays  of  the  fire  startled  the  loungers  in 
the  Park,  a  dense  crowd  rushed  to  the  gates  opening  into 
Broadway.  The  gentleman  with  two  young  ladies,  so 
closely  observed  by  the  old  woman  and  the  young  man 
with  the  moustache,  were  making  their  way,  as  fast  as  they 
could,  through  the  Park,  and  as  they  were  forcing  their 
way  through  the  gate  into  the  street  and  gathering  multi 
tudes  were  pushing  their  way  in,  as  if  the  city  was  ousted, 
stumbling  and  kicking,  it  was  almost  impossible  to  gain  an 
inch  either  way,  the  tallest  of  the  young  ladies  was  forci 
bly  dragged  back.  This  occurred  just  as  they  were  pass 
ing  through  the  gate ;  the  old  woman  had  emerged  suddenly 
from  her  dark  corner  and  wound  her  desecrated  arms 
around  the  terrified  girl  with  the  white  plume  and  held  her 
fast,  and  dragged  her  back  into  the  park. 

The  gentleman  turned  to  regain  the  arm  of  his  compa 
nion,  but  could  not  find  her.  It  was  in  vain  that  they 
lingered  at  the  gate,  hoping  every  moment  would  end  their 
solicitude  to  recover  her. 

The  fire  raged  ;  the  crowd  moved  like  an  ocean  of  living 
creatures,  but  its  blending  waves  were  explored  in  vain  for 
the  lost  girl.  The  woman  pressed  her  closely  to  her  with 
one  arm  still  forcing  her  head  down,  while  the  other  pressed 
a  snuffy  handkerchief  into  her  mouth  to  prevent  her  from 
screaming.  A  man  came  up  to  assist  the  woman — that 
horrid-looking  creature  with  the  blistered  face  and  the 
ulcerated  cheek.  They  dragged  her  through  Chatham- 
street  on  to  Mulberry.  She  struggled  to  release  herself, 
but  alarmed  and  astounded  by  so  unlocked  for  a  calamity, 
she  was  unable  to  oppose  the  wretches  into  whose  hands 
she  had  fallen.  When  the  man  approached  to  assist  her, 


MRS.  BEN  DABBY.  265 

or  rather  to  force  her  on,  she  became  more  passive,  dread 
ing,  more  than  words  can  express,  coming  in  contact  with 
one  so  loathsome  and  repulsive. 

Crowds  passed  them  in  this  way.  She  cried  and 
screamed,  but  everybody  was  crying  and  screaming.  She 
tried  to  grasp  some  friendly  hand,  but  everybody  was 
afraid  of  being  seized;  everybody  shunned  everybody, 
and  everybody  was  getting  out  of  everybody's  way, 
and  everybody  was  thinking  of  nobody  but  them 
selves — everybody  was  in  everybody's  way,  and  if  any 
body  expected  anybody  to  notice  them  somebody  was 
very  much  mistaken. 

"  We  must  keep  a  look-out  or  the  first  thing  we  know, 
we  '11  be  in  a  regular  muss,"  said  the  man,  as  they  pulled 
their  prisoner  along  the  dirty  street. 

"No  danger  now,"  answered  his  companion;  "hold  on 
to  the  girl.  She  is  yours,  I  have  nothing  to  say." 

"What  would  you  say  Cap'an  ? "  asked  the  old 
woman. 

"  Nothing  ;  only  it  is  poor  sport  to  go  on  a  dub  without 
a  little  of  the  critter." 

"  If  that's  all,  I  am  sure  it  is  myself  that  will  divide 
with  you — here  's  a  shilling  and  there 's  a  window  with  a 
red  curtain — do  you  take  ?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  and  I  '11  see  you  to  the  cribbey  and  then 
I  am  off  on  a  bender — you  take  ?" 

They  were  interrupted  by  the  girl,  who  screamed  murder, 
as  she  saw  some  persons  hurrying  by  with  compassionate- 
looking  faces. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?"  asked  a  corpulent-looking  man 
with  a  silver-headed  cane  and  large  watch-key. 
23 


266  MRS.  BEN  DAKBY. 

"  Oh!  sir,  save  me  !  save  me !"  screamed  the  girl  at  the 
top  of  her  voice. 

"  What  does  she  mean  ?"  he  inquired,  looking  closely 
under  her  hat. 

"  Bad  enough,  sir !"  replied  the  woman ;  "  the  poor,  dear 
child  is  demented  entirely,  and  it  is  always  so  wid  her  at 
the  cry  of  fire — she  always  falls  into  conniptions — it  is  an 
ugly  trick,  sir,  but  she  has  done  so  ever  since  she  was  a 
baby." 

"  It  is  all  false,  sir,"  cried  the  frantic  girl,  trying  to  burst 
from  their  hold  ;  "  Oh !  sir,  for  the  love  of  God,  save  me !" 

"  Yes,  you  see — entirely  upset !"  and  the  woman  tapped 
her  fore-finger  on  her  forehead  and  winked  at  the  fidgety 
old  gentleman;  "  we  are  taking  her  home,  sir,  but  she  does 
not  know  us — not  a  bit  of  it !" 

"  So  young  and  so  pretty  !  what  a  pity !"  and  the  gentle 
man  sighed. 

"  Oh !  no !  I  am  not  crazy,  indeed  I  am  not !  Only  listen 
one  moment — they  are  carrying  me  from  my  friends.  Oh  ! 
save  me !" 

"Just  so,"  said  the  woman;  "I  am  sure,  I  have  nursed 
her  in  her  cradle — the  ungrateful  hussy !" 

"  Poor  thing  !"  said  the  gentleman,  passing  on;  "  she  is 
very  beautiful!  What  a  misfortune  to  lose  one's  wits! 
What  strange  sights  we  meet  in  this  city  at  every  turn !" 

The  next  turn  presented  the  Park  theater  in  a  blaze  of 
light — the  poor  girl  was  forgotten.  So  much  for  street 
sympathy. 

"  Didn't  I  come  it  over  that  old  fogy?"  said  the  woman, 
laughing  hideously  ;  "  he  is  sapped,  certain." 

They  dragged  the  poor  girl  into  one  of  those  dirty, 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  267 

stinking  alleys  leading  into  the  Five  Points.  They  knocked 
at  the  door  of  a  small,  dark,  brownish-looking  house,  which 
stood  with  its  gable  fronting  on  Mulberry-street.  It  was  a 
miserable-looking  place  in  rear  and  front ;  but  the  interior 
had  a  more  cheerful  appearance.  A  few  articles  seemed  to 
have  fallen  in  the  wrong  place — forming,  as  they  did,  such 
strange  contrast  with  the  dirty,  shattered  walls.  The  win 
dows  had  blinds ;  the  floors  were  carpeted  with  half- worn, 
faded,  striped  carpeting.  The  furniture  was  third-handed, 
from  Chatham-street.  The  house  was  much  larger  than  it 
seemed  to  be,  at  first  survey ;  it  was  narrow  in  its  dimen 
sions,  but  ran  some  forty  feet  back. 

"Nice  boarding-house  this,  my  chick,"  said  the  old 
woman,  as  they  passed  the  little,  den-like  looking  rooms ; 
"  well  ventilated,  with  Croton  fixin's.  You  will  fare  like  a 
princess." 

They  dragged  the  half-dead  girl  into  a  room,  and  bidding 
her  to  take  off  her  hat,  she  turned  the  key  on  the  outside 
and  left  her  to  her  reflections. 

Her  musings  were  bitter,  but  of  short  duration.  Several 
women  of  detestable  appearance,  followed  the  old  woman, 
and  peered  in  at  the  weeping  girl. 

"  Take  off  your  bonnet  dear — and  it  is  good  hands  en 
tirely  you  are  in,  and  no  mistake — will  you  choose  to  stay' 
with  the  young  ladies  here,  or  will  you  go  up  to  the  wo 
man  what's  to  have  charge  of  you?" 

"Let  me  out  of  this  house  now!"  replied  the  horror- 
stricken  girl ;  for  she  comprehended  enough  of  her  situa 
tion,  almost  to  madden  her,  "  I  shall  die,  indeed  I  shall, 
away  from  my  father — my  dear  father — Oh !  if  you  have 
one  drop  of  nature  left,  let  me  pass  out!" 


268  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

"  I  had  as  well  turn  a  lamb  out  among  wolves,  as  to  let 
you  out  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Five  Points." 

"Oh!  God  have  mercy  on  me — not  the  Five  Points?" 
and  the  poor  young  lady  wrung  her  hands  in  utter  despair. 

"Oh !  madam,  if  you  will  only  take  me  in  to  Chatham  or 
Broadway,  I  will  load  you  with  presents  and  gratitude." 

"  Don't  talk  to  me  about  gratitude — there  is  not  enough 
of  it  in  the  world  to  load  a  cat's  back." 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  girl,  "with  the  good." 

"You  call  yourself  good,  hey  ?" 

"I  am  innocent,  at  least — help  me  to  escape." 

"I  can't — its  no  use  to  tamper  wid  me,  darling — I  am 
no  traithor — and  then  if  I  had  a  mind,  I  dare  not  disap 
point  the  woman  up  stairs — for  she  is  the when  she 

is  raised — so  come  along  up  will  you  !" 

"  No,  no — do  not  take  me  up  there — have  mercy,  so 
God  may  have  pity  on  you  in  time  of  sorrow  and  danger." 

"  Come  along,  come  along,  you  simpering  fool — this  is  a 
boarding  house,  and  some  of  the  boarders  are  very  aristo 
cratic — especially  the  lady  up  stain,.  She  was  one  of  the 
upper  tens  once — perhaps  you  have  heard  of  her  ?" 

"What  name  ?"  asked  the  trembling  prisoner. 

"Mrs.  Ben  Darby." 

A.  smothering  suppression  of  breath,  was  the  only  reply, 
and  the  blood  left  her  face  pale  as  death. 

"  Will  you  go  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  will  go." 

"  Come  along  then — be  a  good  girl." 

They  entered  a  contracted  apartment,  disgracefully  kept, 
and  with  little  or  no  pretensions  to  the  comforts  of  life. 
Mrs.  Darby  had,  however,  retained,  through  the  varied 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  269 

changes  of  her  life,  her  predilection  for  lounging.  The 
splendid  sofa,  had  almost  faded  from  memory,  and  she  now 
crouched  upon  an  old,  broken  lounge,  covered  with  stained 
and  faded  calico —  dirty  and  greasy,  with  a  cushion  so 
filthy,  that  no  one  could  venture  to  even  surmise  its  original 
texture.  She  had  lost  all  her  beauty  ;  her  black,  glossy 
hair  was  intermixed  with  filaments  of  silver,  and  in  mats 
upon  her  neck,  but  in  front,  still  caressed  into  long  curls. 
Her  teeth,  too  firm  to  yield  to  premature  decay,  were  very 
yellow  and  elongated ;  her  mouth  was  scornful  and  snarl 
ing,  like  that  of  a  fretted  lioness.  Her  form  had  lost  its 
queen-like  proportions  ;  but  bloated  and  flaccid,  sought  its 
ease  in  loose  and  unseemly  garments.  An  old,  faded 
muslin-de-laine,  which  had  seen  gay  days  in  its  time, 
•with  a  huge  cape,  enveloped  her  form. 

"  I  have  brought  the  .young  'oman,"  cried  the  conduc 
tress  of  the  girl,  pushing  her  into  the  room. 

"  Take  a  seat,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Darby,  making  room 
for  her  on  the  oily-looking  couch.  "  Quite  pretty — aristo 
cratic,  I  take  it." 

"I  am  sure  ma'am,  I  have  made  no  blunder  at  all — but 
it  is  dangerous  meddling  with  the  nobs — keep  her  out  of 
sight,  in  case  of  a  muss — them  tarnal  coppers  always 
meddlin'  wid  other  folks'  business — an'  then,  that  con- 
carned  Tombs  is  so  near." 

"  I  wish  you  would  not  use  your  flash  to  me — I  am  not 
one  of  you — be  off,"  continued  she,  when  she  noticed  the 
d^eep  agitation  of  the  girl,  "  you  frighten  a  body." 

"  Well  !  the  Tombs  is  handy — do  you  take  ?" 

"  What  shall  I  call  you  love  ?"  said  Mrs.  Darby  whin- 
ingly,  for  she  was,  as  "Jack"  says,  "  three  sheets  in  the 


270  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

wind."  She  turned  to  the  girl  for  a  reply,  and  found  she 
had  fallen  on  her  knees,  and  with  clasped  hands,  was 
gazing  with  incomprehensible  agony  into  the  face  of  her 
who  addressed  her.  Wretched  mother  !  know  you  not  the 
child  of  your  bosom  ?  Has  that  troubled  appeal  of  nature, 
no  responding  answer  from  thy  cold  and  shattered  heart? — 
none !  none ! 

Elinor  Temple  felt  there  was  none,  and  silently  wrestled 
with  her  emotions,  then  turning  to  Mrs.  Darby  she  said, 
«  Call  me  Ellen." 

"Elinor  was  my  own  sweet  child's  name — but  she  is  in 
heaven — I  am  here " 

"Is  she  dead  ?"  asked  Miss  Temple  in  a  low  tone,  with 
a  fluttering  heart  sounding  the  depths  of  her  feelings. 

"No!"  screamed  the  wretched  woman,  "but  she  had 
just  as  well  be — she  is  innocent  and  happy,  and  I  am — it 
matters  not  what  I  am — I  might  have  been — but  no  more 
of  that — well,  well !"  continued  she,  as  if  talking  to  herself, 
"it  can't  be  undone — sinking! — sinking! — I  had  just  as  well 
touch  the  bottom  of  the  abyss.  Has  hell  any  bottom, 
child?" 

"Madam,  pray  do  not  talk  so,  you  freeze  my  blood — 
Oh!  it  is  dreadful."  Elinor  hid  her  face  with  her  hands. 

"Well,  I  will  not — at  least  I  will  try  not,"  and  she 
smiled  hideously.  "How  beautiful  you  are — only  think,  that 
I  was  once  just  as  young,  and  perhaps,  infinitely  hand 
somer,  and  just  as  frail.  What  evil  got  in  you,  child,  to 
think  of  meeting  that  young  man  here  ?" 

"  I  never  had  such  a  thought ! — that  old  woman  dragged 
me  from  my  uncle's  arms,  and  with  the  assistance  of  a 
vile-looking  man,  brought  me  here." 


MRS.  BEN  DARBT.  271 

"  But  you  love  the  young  man — lie  told  me  so." 

"  He  lies — I  never  loved  any  young  man — never  !" 

"  Well,  don't  fly  in  a  passion,  dear — and  tell  me  all  your 
troubles.  Then  you  did  not  come  of  your  own  accord  ?" 

"  Never  !  never  !" 

"  Then  fly  this  atmosphere  of  sin  and  degradation,  and 
go  back  to  your  father  and  mother." 

"  I  have  never  known  a  mother's  care." 

"Ah  !  tell  me  you  have  no  mother  ?  I  suppose  she  died 
when  you  were  a  baby?" 

"  No,  she  is  not  dead,"  cried  the  agitated  girl,  in  a  gush 
of  uncontrollable  feeling,  "  she  lives  in  the  precincts  of 
vice — she  is  degraded — lost  to  all  the  dear  hearts  that 
could  have  loved  and  cherished  her — without  hope  or 
mercy,  lost  forever!" 

"  And  where  is  the  wretched  woman  now  ?"  asked  Mrs. 
Darby,  her  face  purple  with  conscious  guilt. 

"  In  the  lowest  grade  of  life  ;  she  gave  away  the  baby 
at  her  breast  for  the  bottle  ;  she  gave  up  friends,  wealth, 
and  character  for  it,  but  that  is  not  the  worst — she  has  for 
saken  her  God — lost  sight  of  heaven  !" 

"  Child,"  said  Mrs.  Darby,  drawing  herself  up  in  great 
dignity,  "you  are  getting  up  a  tragedy — proceed — you  do 
it  admirable,  but  the  case  is  so  like  my  own  that  I  will  not 
listen  to  it;  it  stirs  up  all  the  evil  thoughts  and  feelings  that 
I  would  like  to  forget.  Come,  child,  I  will  take  you  home." 

"I'd  rather  stay  with  you  until  morning,  if  you  will  prom 
ise  to  protect  me.  Only  try  to  imagine  that  I  am  your  Eli 
nor — your  own  child  !" 

"  Oh  !  no  !    she  would  scorn  her  reduced  parent  —  that 


272  MRS.  BEN  DABBY. 

proud  child  of  the  Temples';  but,  child,  you  shall  be  safe 
with  me — yes — safe  as  with  your  mother." 

"Oh  !  yes  !"  cried  Elinor,  springing  toward  her  with  out 
stretched  arms,  and  clasping  her  around  the  neck. 

"  Dear  me !  you  are  very  loving  ;  have  you  any  small 
change?  Elinor,  give  us  a  few." 

"Oh  !  listen  to  me,"  —  said  she,  kneeling  before  her — 
your  own,  long  deserted — " 

"  Well,  before  I  listen  to  your  theatricals,  give  me  a  few 
shillings.  I  am  thirsty — I'll  be  hanged  if — " 

"Mother  !  listen  to  your  child  !" 

"  Just  a  little  of  the  tin  first,  and  then  I  will  be  very 
attentive — just  a  little,  dear." 

"Oh!  it  is  dreadful!"  said  poor  Elinor,  wringing  her 
hands  ;  then  suddenly  seating  herself  again,  she  asked  her 
mother  if  she  lived  alone. 

"  Alone  !"  she  repeated,  "  who  could  live  in  this  world 
of  bitterness  and  scorn  alone  ?  No  !  I  have  company  lower 
and  viler  than  myself  !  If  you  are  innocent,  chifd,  try  and 
keep  so.  I  never  try  to  seduce  the  innocent — I  will  not  do 
it ;  but  Darby  is  very  heartless,  and  makes  very  poor  pro 
vision  for  me,  and  a  body  has  often  to  lower  themselves 
according  to  circumstances.  I  was  not  always  pinched  as 
I  am  now.  I  used  to  ride  in  my  own  carriage,  and  board 
at  the  Astor  House.  I  always  had  friends  then — people 
always  have,  when  money  is  plenty.  I  kept  my  servants, 
too,  but  you  would  not  think  it  now." 

"  You  used  to  be  very  beautiful,  too,  I  know  you  were  ; 
you  must  have  been,"  said  Elinor,  turning  one  of  her  griz 
zled  curls  on  her  finger. 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  273 

"  Oh  !  yes  —  that  was  my  ruin  ;  but  where  is  it  now  ? 
it  all  went  when  I  had  the  small-pox.  Oh  !  that  was  a 
horrible  time  !" 

"  How  long  since  ?"  asked  Elinor. 

"  My  memory  is  very  deceitful  ;  I  believe  it  was  five 
or  six  years  ago.  I  was  returning  from  Texas." 

"Alone  ?" 

"  No,  child,  I  never  go  or  stay  alone.  Ben  Darby  is 
my  shadow — always  has  been — will  be  in  eternity  !" 

"Where  is  he  now  ?"  asked  Elinor,  fearfully. 

"  What  little  there  is  left  of  him,"  she  said,  smiling  sin- 
istrously,  "is  in  the  city;  but  there  is  precious  little  left 
of  Ben  Darby.  Ah  !  if  I  had  never  known  that  man,  I 
should  have  been  boarding  on  Broadway  yet,  or  been 
buried  in  Greenwood  ;  but  it  is  done  for  now  ! — the  die  is 
cast! — I  look  for  nothing  now  but  death  to  relieve  me — none 
to  care  for  me  or  weep  for — " 

"  Do  not  say  that — your  child — your  own  Ellen  will  com 
fort  you,  if  you  will  only  love  and  permit  her.  Look  at 
me,  dear  mother— do  you  not  feel  that  I  am  your  child  ?" 
and  she  fell,  weeping,  on  the  breast  of  her  unfeeling 
mother. 

"  What  a  child  !"  said  Mrs.  Darby,  parting  the  curls  on 
her  brow,  and  looking  into  her  weeping  eyes.  "  Hush  ! 
hush  !  don't  cry  —  no  one  shall  trouble  you  ;  I  will  —  but 
see — here  is  a  friend." 

Starting  on  her  feet,  she  beheld  Herman  Frazier  —  then 
hiding  her  face  in  her  hands,  she  dropped  closely  by  the 
side  of  Mrs.  Darby. 

"  How  kind  to  give  me  this  meeting  1"  said  Frazier  in 


274  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

his  blandest  accents,  and  with  his  most  insinuating  smile  ; 
"  I  scarcely  dared  hope  as  much." 

Elinor's  upper  lip  curled  in  scorn,  but  she  said  nothing. 
Her  pure  mind  sickened  at  the  thoughts  which  her  strange 
situation  suggested,  beginning  to  comprehend  indefi 
nitely  her  position,  and  the  evils  which  surrounded  her. 

Mrs.  Darby  arose  to  leave  the  room,  but  Elinor  clung 
to  her. 

"  If  you  have  made  an  appointment  to  meet  this  young 
gentleman,  I  will  retire." 

"It  is  false — I  never  did  any  such  thing — it  is  all  a  base 
stratagem,  unworthy  a  man,  and  you  shall  not  leave  me 
alone  with  him  !" 

"Well,  have  it  your  own  way,"  replied  Mrs.  Darby, 
sinking  heavily  on  the  couch. 

"Lovely,  but  proud  girl,"  said  Frazier,  drawing  his  seat 
in  front  of  Elinor,  "  we  meet,  but  not  on  neutral  ground — 
I  have  you  now  in  my  power  f" 

"  I  do  not  fear  you,  sir,"  replied  Elinor  in  a  low  tone. 
"I  am  with  my  mother,  and  though  she  is  fallen  and  degra 
ded,  you  dare  not  injure,  in  her  presence,  herinnocent  child." 

"  Frazier,  do  call  for  some  water,"  said  Mrs.  Darby, 
fanning  herself.  "  I  have  been  dying  with  thirst." 

"  You  have  a  chartered  protectress,"  whispered  Frazier, 
pointing  at  the  almost  stupefied  woman  ;  "  I  can  soon  fix 
her  flint,  and  then — and  then  !" 

"  And  then  God  will  keep  me,"  replied  Elinor,  with 
cheerful  faith. 

The  water  and  liquor  were  brought  in  and  placed  in  the 
window-seat. 


MRS.  BEN  D%ARBY.  275 

"Wine,  is  it?"  asked  Mrs.  Darby,  a  deep,  phosphoric 
light  twinkling  in  her  eyes.  "  Perhaps,  Frazier,  the  young 
lady  will  join  us  ;  a  few  drops  will  be  beneficial." 

Poor,  deluded  being  !  Never  had  she  once,  during  her 
interview  with  Miss  Temple,  been  able  to  feel,  or  recognize 
in  any  way,  the  relationship  between  them.  Having  been 
fuddled  for  weeks  and  weeks,  without  one  lucid  interval, 
she  had  become  almost  insane  ;  her  heart  was  too  deeply 
cauterized  by  the  burning  drops  which  daily  fell  upon  it, 
to  have  one  healthy  pulsation. 

"  It  will  be  my  pleasure,  you  know,  Mrs.  Darby,  to  wait 
on  the  young  lady." 

"  I  never  drink  wine,"  replied  Elinor;  "I  have  never 
tasted  it." 

"  Why  not,  child  ?"  said  Mrs.  Darby. 

"  Because  my  mother  is  intemperate  !"  replied  Elinor  ; 
"  I  detest  it,  because  it  is  her  enemy." 

"  It  has  been  my  best  friend,"  said  the  degraded  woman, 
drinking  greedily  the  offered  glass — "charming! — ah, 
Frazier,  you  know  how  these  things  ought  to  be  done; 
the  best  of  wine.  I  don't  care  if  I  do,"  continued  she, 
holding  forth  her  glass,  as  Frazier  approached  with  the  bot 
tle  ;  "  what  a  beautiful  tint-scher,"  and  she  held  it  up  to 
the  light.  "  I  see  it  's  prime — gen'wine,  shuch  as  I  love. 
Only  try  a  glass,  dear,  do  shee  how  nice  it  looks." 

"  I  never  drink  it  said,  Elinor,  with  a  shudder." 

"  The  upper  tens  all  drink  it,"  Frazier  said,  handing  her 
a  glass,  with  his  face  wreathed  in  sarcastic  smiles. 

"I  will  not,"  said  Elinor,  proudly. 

"  We  will  see,"  said  he,  sneeringly. 

Trembling  with  fear  and  consternation,  the  poor  girl  wit- 


276  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

nessed  the  frequent  draughts  of  her  mother,  and  the  serpent- 
like  smile  of  the  false  one,  when  he  found  that  the  liquor 
was  doing  its  work,  by  arousing  the  sleeping  devil  in  her 
nature.  Her  face  was  purple;  only  where  the  small-pox  had 
left  its  prints,  those  spots  were  white,  which  added  to  the 
revolting  and  disgusting  features  of  the  almost  helpless 
mass  of  flesh ;  she  had  begun  to  grow  garrulous  and 
fidgety. 

Frazier  turned,  smiling  with  demon-like  suavity,  toward 
Elinor,  and  whispered,  "  My  little  bird,  do  you  find  your 
cage  comfortable  ?" 

She  answered  him  not,  but  sought  the  window,  and 
looked  out ;  the  moon  was  shining,  but  there  was  nothing 
to  be  seen  but  the  murky  roof  of  the  houses  and  smoke- 
dried  chimney-tops,  and  the  gloomy-looking  dome  of  the 
neighboring  Tombs  ;  mentally  she  prayed  for  strength  of 
purpose — for  timely  protection  ;  then  turning,  with  her 
mind  soothed  and  reassured,  she  silently  awaited  the 
finale. 

Alone,  and  among  the  most  wicked  and  abandoned 
part  of  the  community,  how  was  she  to  escape,  or  eve* 
cherish  a  hope  to  do  so.  She  looked  around  on  every  side, 
but  there  was  no  hope — no  way  of  escape  ;  and  that 
wretched  mother  quaffing,  with  insatiable  thirst,  the  mad 
dening  draught;  how  was  it  all  to  end  ?  Elinor  asked  her 
self  this  question,  and  her  shivering  heart  made  no  response. 
She  saw  Frazier  approach  the  table ;  mix  water  and  wine 
together ;  then  shaking  a  little  white  paper  over  it,  crumbled 
the  paper  in  his  pocket,  and  handed  it  to  Elinor. 

"  Come,  dear,  take  it,  it  is  only  a  thimbleful ;  Frazier 
thinks  it  will  enliven  you  ;  drink  it,  love  !" 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  277 

'"  I  will  not/'  said  Elinor. 

"  Will  not !"  repeated  Frazier. 

"  No,  not  with  my  own  will." 

"  Obstinate  children  are  often  forced  to  take  medicine," 
said  Frazier,  bowing  gracefully,  and  with  mock  politeness, 
before  her,  with  the  glass  in  his  hand. 

"  I  will  not  touch  your  drugged  cup  ;  I  defy — I  despise 
you  ;"  and  starting  on  her  feet,  she  prepared  to  defend  her 
self  with  the  best  of  her  ability. 

"  Will  not,  hey  !"  he  approached,  and  held  it  closely  to 
her  face  ;  "  drink,  or  by " 

"  Drink  it  yourself,  and  to with  you,"  said  a  soft, 

oily  voice,  and  the  glass  struck  forcibly  the  open  mouth  of 
Frazier,  and  was  shattered  against  his  front  teeth. 

"  Drag  her  out,"  cried  Mrs.  Darby,  "  or  the  police  will 
see  her — in  here."  She  opened  a  door  leading  to  a  place 
that  looked  more  like  the  "  black-hole  of  Calcutta"  than 
anything  else. 

The  wild  shrieks  of  the  terrified  girl,  as  they  tried  to 
drag  her  out,  and  force  her  into  that  dreadful  cell,  brought 
a  crowd  of  spectators  into  the  apartment,  and,  as  on  all 
such  occasions,  they  were  not  content  to  remain  such,  but 
soon  found  excuses  for  falling  pell-mell  into  the  intricate 
merits  of  the  muss. 

The  man  with  the  horrible  eye  and  the  cancerated  cheek 
approached  the  now  furious,  raging,  storming  termagant, 
and  commanded  her  to  desist. 

"  It  is  none  of  your  business  what  we  do  with  her !" 

"  I  helped  to  bring  her  here,"  said  he  ;  "  but  I  thought 

you  wanted  her  for  another  purpose  ;  but  it's  a  d of  a 

shame  to  treat  her  so  ;  you  shall  not  do  it !" 


278  MBS.  BEN  DARBY. 

"  Bless  my  soul,  Ben  Darby,  you  are  getting  back  a  lit 
tle  of  your  spunk ;  but  you  can't  master  me  ;  no,  sir-ree  : 
so  come  along  you  whimpering  imp,  you ;  I  only  want  to 
hide  you  from  the  police — don't  you  understand  ?" 

"  No,  no,"  screamed  Elinor,  clinging  to  the  chair,  and 
everything  in  her  way  ;  "  oh,  do  not,  I  pray,  add  crime  to 
crime  ;  listen  to  me — mother  !  mother  ! 

"  Frazier,  hold  the  door — in  with  her — she  shall " 

"  Hold,"  screamed  the  poor  girl,  with  all  her  remaining 
strength,  "  you  know  not  what  you  do." 

"  I  don't,  hey !  well  we  '11  see." 

"  Then,  see,    d you  !"   cried  Darby,  "  would  you 

destroy  your  own  child  ?"  and  he  pitched  a  bottle  at  his 
wife,  which  struck  her  on  the  temple,  and  felled  her  to  the 
floor;  she  fell  back  against  the  wall,  and  groaned  furiously — 
like  a  wounded  tigress." 

"  Then,  rushing  upon  Frazier,  he  commenced  a  battle, 
the  merits  of  which  were  lost  in  the  confusion  that  sur 
rounded  it;  some  were  swearing,  and  offering  to  show 
fight  to  any  one  who  dared  come  out ;  some  tumbled  over 
the  others ;  some  tried  to  raise  the  apparently  lifeless 
woman  ;  some  were  punching  her  in  the  side  with  their 
feet,  to  see  if  she  was  really  dead,  or  if  she  was  only  pre 
tending.  Others  were  trying  to  part  Frazier  and  his  anta 
gonist.  During  this  revolting  scene,  poor  Elinor  sat  stupe 
fied,  endeavoring  to  recall  her  fleeting  ideas — completely 
astounded  by  the  horrid  novelty  of  her  situation. 

At  last  she  crept  to  the  side  of  her  mother,  and  stanched 
with  her  handkerchief  the  wound  upon  her  face  ;  her  fea 
tures  were  gyved  by  the  twisting  nerves  into  immovable 
agony  and  pain,  uttering  furious  curses  and  imprecations 


MRS.  BEN  DABBY.  279 

on  the  head  of  the  author  of  her  disaster.  Frazier  was 
desperately  wounded  in  the  side,  and  the  officers  restored 
quiet — the  muss  was  quelled,  and  Mrs.  Ben  Darby  seemed 
suddenly  to  comprehend  the  whole. 

"My  child,"  she  said,  "  my  Elinor  !  and  you  knew  it, 
Darby,  and  did  not  tell  me  ;  may  you  never  find  mercy." 
She  fell  back  in  a  paroxysm  of  pain  and  fury;  and  Elinor, 
overcome,  fainted  by  her  side. 

Darby  was  dragged,  for  the  twentieth  time,  to  the  Tombs, 
and  his  wife,  for  the  first  time,  to  the  hospital. 


280  MKS.  BEN  DARBY. 


Cjuytn  25. 

Death  enters  and  there 's  no  defense, 

His  time,  there  's  none  to  tell, 
He'll  in  a  moment  call  thee  hence 

To  Heaven  or  down  to  hell. — HABT. 

IT  is  past  midnight.  The  churches,  the  parks,  the 
theaters,  Castle  garden,  Christy's,  and  the  restaurants,  have 
all  disgorged  themselves.  The  moon  smiles  down  on  the 
slumbering  city ;  still,  and  peaceful,  only  where  misery 
watches  ;  where  sin  riots ;  where  penury  pinches,  and  dis 
ease  torments. 

In  a  small  room  in  the  hospital  lay  the  panting  form  of 
Mrs.  Darby.  This,  then,  is  the  end  of  her  checkered 
career — the  end  of  all  her  life's  aim.  Erring,  wretched 
woman  !  A  physician  is  called  to  attend  her.  He  scans 
with  stern  inquiry  the  disfigured  face  of  the  wounded 
patient. 

His  attention  is  arrested  by  the  police  officer,  wno  says : 

"  Doctor,  attend  to  this  one  first — she  needs  immediate 
care — she  is  young,  and  looks  innocent." 

"  Who  is  she  ?  where  did  she  come  from  ?" 

"I  suspect,  the  lost  young  lady  we  have  been  searching 
for  since  the  fire.  She  answers  the  description." 

"And  this  wretched  being?"  asked  the  physician,  point 
ing  to  Mrs.  Darby. 

"A  stale  old  customer,  and  belongs  to  the  devil — the 
sooner  he  gets  her  the  better." 


MBS.  BEN  DARBY. 

"  Her  name  ?" 

"  Is  Darby — that 's  Mrs.  Ben  Darby  !" 

"Mrs.  Ben  Darby?  Oh!  yes — true,  true — I  see  through  it 
all,"  and  springing  to  the  side  of  Elinor,  who  lay  on  a 
lounge,  he  tore  the  bonnet  from  her  head,  raised  her  from 
the  pillow,  and  looked  in  her  face.  That  pale,  young  face! 
"  Yes,  it  is  she !  Elinor !  Elinor !  speak  to  me,  Elinor !  The 
voice  had  all  the  power,  in  its  use,  as  had  the  '  open 
sesame'  of  the  Forty  Thieves.  She  looked  wildly  around 
her. 

"  Where  am  I  ?  where  is  my  poor  mother?" 

"  You  are  in  the  hospital,  in  good  hands — yes,  Elinor,  I 
am  your  old  friend — your  old  protector — do  you  not  know 
me?  your  old  playmate 4" 

"Yes — save  me,  Theodore — I  am  falling,  fall "  and 

poor  Elinor  fainted  again. 

The  physician  bathed  her  face;  parted  the  disordered 
hair  from  her  forehead  ;  looked  long  and  kindly  upon  her 
well-remembered  features.  The  young  girl  regains  by 
degrees  her  consciousness,  and  raising  herself  from  her 
recumbent  position,  looks  timidly  around,  "It  must  be 
him!" 

The  doctor,  who  had  retired  to  a  recess  window,  returns, 
seats  himself  by  her  and  whispers : 

"  Fear  not,  Elinor,  I  am  with  you  to  the  end — be  com 
posed — be  yourself — why  should  you  fear?" 

While  they  were  dressing  Mrs.  Darby's  wounds,  Theo 
dore  endeavored  to  occupy  Elinor's  attention.  Sometimes 
she  was  startled  by  a  barbarous  yell  from  the  drunken, 
suffering  woman,  and  was  ready  to  fly  to  her  side ;  but  her 

friend  would  entreat  her  to  remain  quiet,  until  the  opera- 
24 


282  MRS.  BEN  DARBT. 

tion  was  performed.  He  saw  that  she  was  too  much 
excited  and  overcome  by  the  terrible  scene,  through  which 
she  had  passed,  to  bear  or  endure  much  more.  Endeavor 
ing  to  suppress  her  emotions,  she  bowed  her  head  in  silent 
humiliation,  to  the  gentle  inquiries  and  tones  of  Theodore. 
Woman  like  (for  woman  will  be  woman),  she  shook  out 
the  wrinkles  from  her  merino  dress  ;  straightened  the  front 
of  her  battered  up  velvet  hat,  and  the  crumples  from  the 
feathers ;  drew  over  her  form,  the  folds  of  her  mantilla, 
and  tried  to  restore  herself  to  her  usual  patrician  appear 
ance. 

After  Mrs.  Darby  had  received  necessary  attention, 
she  was  placed  in  bed,  and  soon  fell  into  an  unnatural 
slumber.  Elinor  and  Theodore  watched  by  her  during  the 
rest  of  the  night.  Starting  upright  in  her  bed,  she  at 
times  dared  her  husband  again  to  strike — clenching  her 
fists  with  fury,  and,  uttering  the  deadliest  curses,  she  would 
again  fall  back  powerless  upon  her  pillow.  Her  situation 
•was  deplorable,  and  her  sufferings  excruciating,  and  so 
entirely  was  she  occupied  by  her  immediate  urgencies,  that 
she  did  not  seem  sensible  of  her  daughter's  presence,  or 
rather  looked  upon  it  as  a  thing  of  course.  All  maternal 
affection  had  perished  in  the  general  wreck  of  humanity. 
She  had  forgotten  the  child  of  her  travail ;  but  God  had 
not  forgot  the  wretched  sinner.  His  mercy  still  flickered 
about  her;  a  beam,  a  ray,  was  still  shining  over  her  last 
hour. 

The  sweet  face,  that  bent  like  the  angel  of  mercy  above 
her  contaminated  form,  and  the  love-breathing  voice,  that 
came  like  the  whisperings  of  innocence  to  her  throbbing 
ear — mother  !  mother !  it  touched  a  chord — the  last,  tenu- 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  283 

ated  fiber  of  natural  affection — " mother!  mother!" — the 
virulent  ichor  of  the  heart  was  stirred  up. 

"Ah  !  if  I  only  had  my  time  to  live  ever  again!"  cried 
Mrs.  Darby,  in  a  husky  voice. 

"  What  would  you  do  mother  ?"  asked  the  tremulous 
voice  at  her  pillow. 

"Shun  liquor,  as  I  would  hell !"  screamed  the  mother. 

"  Oh!  not  such  words,"  whispered  Elinor,  "it  is  sinful, 
dear  mother — compose  yourself — remember  your  case  is 
awful,  your  suffering  great — but  God  is  merciful." 

"Little  did  I  ever  dream  I  would  come  to  this — dying  in 
a  hospital — no  money — no  friends !" 

"I  am  here  mother — Oh  !  do  not  say  that — your  child, 
your  Elinor — I  will  never  leave  you." 

"It  is  well  enough  to  cram  me  with  such  dainty 
speeches — it  will  read  well  in  the  'Daily  Times,' — all  for 
effect.  The  mother  deserted  her  child  for  the  bottle — her 
husband  for  the  tempter — yes,  that  Darby  has  been  the 
snake  in  my  path — but  he  was  a  man — all  men  are  vil 
lains—false.  Ah  !  if  they  will  only  swing  him  for " 

"  No — no,  not  all  mother — think  of  my  generous,  high- 
minded  father  —  mother,  have  you  forgotten  the  Henry 
Temple  of  your  youth  ?" 

"  Don't  taunt  me  with  him — don't  I  know  what  Henry 
Temple  was,  and  is — did  he  not  spurn  his  young  wife  for 
one  failing  only — cast  her  off  upon  a  merciless  world, 
because  she  loved  wine  f" 

"He  did  all  he  could  mother — he  bore  with  you  until  it 
brought  him  to  the  edge  of  the  grave — he  tried  to  wean 
you  from  it." 

"  Wean !"  repeated  the  wretched  woman,  with  scorn — 


284  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

"  as  if  he  thought  to  cheat  me  from  it,  like  a  child — as  if  I 
loved  it  no  better  than  the  babe  its  mother's  milk.  Little 
knows  he  of  the  drunkard's  devotion !  Gentle  reproof — 
kind,  suasive  entreaties! — he  ought  to  have  incarcerated 
me  in  a  dungeon — kept  me  in  perpetual  imprisonment — he 
ought  to  have  forced  me  into  sobriety  !  Force — yes,  that 
is  the  word — nothing  else  will  do  for  one  doomed  to  the 
bottle.  Talk  of  moral  suasion^you  had  just  as  well  talk 
of  extinguishing  a  burning  pile  with  the  dews  of  night. 
Fiends  of  fury  !"  continued  she,  pushing  the  bandage 
from  her  gaping  brow,  "  what  use  is  signing  the  pledge. 
If  I  had  written  my  name  down  with  the  blood  exuded 
drop  by  drop  from  my  heart,  I  should  still  have  drank  on. 
Can  the  sick  cure  himself  ? — never  was  there  a  disease  more 
lingering,  and  fatal  as  the  cholera  !  When  one  has  the 
ship-fever,  or  breaks  his  limbs,  or  loses  his  senses — they 
take  him  to  the  hospital — charitable  institutions.  Oh,  yes ! 
but  the  drunkard  dies  in  the  loathsome  cellar — with  a  stone 
•for  his  pillow,  and  a  curse  for  a  prayer.  The  police  and 
the  law  drag  out  the  criminal  offenders  of  the  law,  and  the 
law  punishes  them — but  the  drunkard  commits  no  crimes — 
he  never  kills  any  one,  and  although  the  Tombs  is  filled 
every  night  with  drunken  rioters,  they  are  sent  out  to  try 
it  over. 

"  Oh  !  mother,  why  did  you  ever  take  to  it  ?" 
"  I  used  to  steal  it  from  my  mother's  closet.  She  always 
kept  it  there  in  a  beautiful  bottle,  with  a  silver  stopper ;  but 
she  only  used  it  for  medicine.  After  I  was  married,  I  tried, 
as  you  say,  to  wean  myself  from  it,  but  I  craved  it  more 
and  more.  I  loved  your  father;  he  was  very  handsome  ; 
but  I  loved  rum  better.  I  loved  you,  dear,  when  you  first 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  285 

opened  your  eyes  ;  when  I  felt  your  precious  lips  upon  my 
breast,  quivering  my  very  heart-strings  ;  but  I  loved  wine 
better.  I  loved  the  fashion  and  gayety  of  life,  pomp  and 
show — but  I  .loved  the  bottle  with  the  silver  stopper  better 
than  the  glory  of  the  world  or " 

"  The  hope  of  heaven,"  said  Elinor,  timidly. 

"  Heaven,"  repeated  the  sufferer,  slowly.  "  How  strange 
your  words  sound  !  I  used  to  hear  them  long  ago.  Sin 
against  God  !  as  if  there  was  a  God." 

"Oh!  yes,"  exclaimed  Elinor,  earnestly,  clasping  her 
hands,  "  there  is  a  God,  madam,  a  just  God,  and  he  will 
not  look  upon  sin  with  the  least  degree  of  allowance.  Oh  ! 
my  mother,  turn  your  thoughts  to  Him." 

"  Dear  me,  child,  how  excited  you  are  !" 

"  Listen  to  me,  madam,"  cried  the  earnest  girl,  falling 
on  her  knees,  and  looking  in  her  blacked  and  darkened  vis 
age,  "  there  is  a  God  ;  but  he  is  merciful  as  well  as  just ; 
he  is  dealing  in  kindness  with  you  now ;  you  have  still  time 
to  repent — time  for  forgiveness  ;  for  if  you  die " 

"  I  will  not  die  !  I  cannot  die  !"  screamed  the  frantic 
woman.  "  God  ! — heaven  ! — hell !  No  !  ha  !  ha  !  it  is  only 
a  scarecrow,  held  up,  to  wean  people  from  their  evil  ways ! 
God  never  made  us,  with  such  horrid  propensities  and  dis 
positions,  and  to  punish  us  for  giving  way  to  them.  Oh, 
no  !  the  Savior  never  died  on  the  cross  ;  his  blood  cannot 
wash  out  the  foul  stains  of  the  soul.  Heaven  and  the 
angels  !  it  all  sounds  very  sweet  to  dying  ears,  I  suppose  ; 
but  it  cannot  be !  No  !  we  sink  into  the  earth — we  lie  and 
rot,  and  mingle  with  the  sod." 

"No,  mother,  no!  the  soul  is  immortal,  and  Christ  has 


286  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

died  to  redeem  it,  and  he  is  ready  now  to  intercede  for  you, 
if  you  will  yield  your  heart  to  him — only  think  of  him." 

"Ah  !  if  it  is  all  true  what  you  say,  and  what  Jane  Fair 
mont  said  long  ago,  it  does  me  no  good !  I  have  sinned 
past  hope  !  I  have  never  given  God  one  thought !  I  have 
left  friends,  husband  and  child " 

Her  eye-balls  glared  from  their  livid  lids ;  her  frizzled 
hair  stood  out  from  her  ashy  brow,  with  its  frightful,  bleed 
ing  fissure  ;  her  mouth  was  wreathed  with  distorted  smiles. 
"  Oh  !  no,  I  cannot  die  !  there  is  that  within  me  which  can 
not  be  annihilated  ;  'tis  the  burning  curse — the  raging  fire, 
that  has  been  consuming  me  !  I  carry  my  punishment 
•with  me.  Oh  !  Temple,  strike  me  not  with  that  heated 
club  !  it  belongs  to  hell  ! — to  the  fiend  with  a  thousand 
fangs !  Ah  !  yes,  I  see  now,  it  is  the  bottle  of  the  intem 
perate  ;  my  own  precious  bottle,  with  its  jeweled  stopper. 
Don't  pour  it  on  my  head!  it  burns  like  vitriol  !  Oh  !  for 
water  to  cool  the  consuming  flames  that  are  destroying  soul 
and  body  !  I  thought  that  death  was  cold  and  turgid — 
that  its  breath  was  chilly,  and  its  hands  icy !  I  thought 
that  the  grave  was  damp,  cold,  and  quiet,  and  that  the 
worms  would  crawl  in  silence  over  the  stiffened  form  ;  but 
no  !  it  is  a  furnace  of  never-dying  coals — of  molten  lead, 
seething  and  hissing  like  a  volcano  of  eternal  heat !  Yes, 
yes,  there  is  a  God — a  terrible  God  !" 

"  Yes,  mother,  but  his  name  is  love,"  cried  the  weeping 
daughter.  "  Jesus  is  your  friend." 

"  No,  not  the  drunkard's !"  replied  Mrs.  Darby,  tearing 
the  bandages  from  her  wounds,  and  the  clothes  from  her 
bosom,  "there  is  no  water  to  quench  the  burning  heart ! — a 


MRS.  BEN.  DARBT.  287 

stream  of  liquid  fire  bathes  the  never-dying  soul !  Oh  ! 
for  one  drop  of  water ! — water ! — water  !" 

Poor  Elinor  hid  her  face  in  the  counterpane,  but  the 
hideous  cries,  the  blasphemous  curses,  and  ranting  of  her 
insane  mother,  was  more  than  her  nature  could  bear.  Al 
most  senseless,  she  was  taken  from  the  room,  and  her 
friends  were  summoned  to  take  charge  of  her. 

Mrs.  Darby's  deathbed  scene  was  too  dreadful  to  dwell 
on.  Elinor  never  left  her  until  the  closing  hour,  when  her 
strength  failed,  and  she  was  debarred  from  witnessing  her 
death.  But  those  who  stood  by  her,  declared  it  terrific. 

Ben  Darby  died  in  prison  before  his  trial  for  the  murder 
of  his  wife  had  been  concluded.  His  left  cheek  was  entirely 
eaten  out  by  the  corrosive  disease  which  liquor  had  pro 
duced.  When  brought  out  in  his  rough  coffin,  he  was 
literally  covered  with  worms — living  worms  !  his  corpse 
unfit  for  the  dissecting-knife  ;  and  was  tumbled  into  the 
earth,  despised  and  forgotten. 

Mrs.  Darby  was  interred  in  Greenwood  by  her  sorrowful 
daughter,  with  a  plain  stone  to  mark  her  resting-place.  She, 
after  all,  secured  the  last  advantage  that  her  position  had 
to  offer  on  earth — an  aristocratic  grave. 


288  MRS.  BEN  DARBT. 


Cljaptn   27. 

Gentle  friend ! 

Chide  not  her  mirth  who  -was  sad  yesterday 
And  may  be  so  to-morrow. — JOANNA  BAILEY. 

ONE  little  tear,  like  a  clear  drop  from  an  April  sky,  lay 
upon  the  cheek  of  Kate  Fairmont,  when  she  kissed  her 
mother  and  bade  farewell  to  her  brothers,  sisters,  friends, 
and  happy  home.  Why  should  she  weep?  She  had  mar 
ried  the  man  she  loved ;  he  was  all  her  imagination  had 
formed  of  a  perfect  man,  and  she  was  yet  too  simple  to 
dream  that  human  nature  was  not  always  what  it  appeared 
to  be. 

He  was  handsome,  talented,  gentle,  and  acquiescing  in 
his  ways ;  so  fascinating  in  his  accents  of  love ;  so  deep  and 
passionate  in  his  admiration  of  Nature — reverential  to  the 
Deity  and  free  from  the  skepticisms  of  the  day.  As  a  law 
yer  and  orator,  he  was  making  rapid  advancements;  his 
success  was  undoubted  by  his  friends.  Every  one  prognos 
ticated  that  he  would  some  day  send  up  a  rocket  from  the 
senate-chamber  of  Congress,  that  would  emit  a  spark  to 
every  State  in  the  Union,  or  perhaps  he  would  grace  the 
President's  chair — why  not  ? 

Kate  was  very  proud  of  her  husband,  he  was  so  richly 
endowed  by  nature.  His  aspirations  were  lofty  and  noble. 
Brilliant  in  the  manifestation  of  those  springs  of  wealth 
which  lie  in  the  deep  and  exhaustless  vein  of  every  man's 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  289 

heart,  prince  or  peasant,  whose  valuable  stores  surpass  the 
visions  of  the  gold -dreamer.  God  has  fashioned  man  after 
his  divinity — the  soul  is  linked  with  His  eternal  being.  In 
this  beautiful  world  of  perishing  joys,  man  has  food  for  his 
deathless  appetite.  Before  him  are  the  mysteries  of  his 
being  and  his  immortality  to  occupy  his  thoughts  and 
engross  his  meditation.  In  the  clear  canopy  above  are  the 
unapproachable  planets — a  glorious  universe  of  light  and 
darkness,  the  incomprehensibility  of  which  draws  from  the 
elevated  mind  insatiable  desires  to  trace  the  laws  by  which 
the  natural  world  is  sustained,  the  paths  of  those  glorious 
orbs,  and  the  relations  they  bear  to  each  other.  The  sim 
plest  leaf,  the  tenderest  blossom  invites  and  stimulates  the 
mind  with  exalted  thoughts  and  endless  inquiries.  The 
inquiring  intellect  of  man  has  no  limits  or  boundaries,  and 
none  can  fortell  its  final  goal. 

This  is  the  standard  of  man,  and  when  he  walks  forth 
clothed  in  the  glory  of  his  might,  he  is  the  noblest  work  of 
his  Creator.  It  is  not  strange,  then,  that  he  should  be  the 
ideal  of  woman's  love  and  adoration. 

Kate  felt  very  proud  of  her  husband,  especially  when 
she  contrasted  him  with  a  great  many  who  crossed  her 
way.  He  was  so  highly  gifted,  so  perfect  in  form  and 
address.  None  of  your  crank-sided,  disjointed,  hard, 
warped  mortals  so  difficult  to  bend  to  reasonable  pur 
poses — not  one  with  more  money  than  brains  and  less 
brains  than  vanity.  He  was  not  one  of  those  Mount  Atlas, 
concerns,  who  throws  himself  on  his  prerogative  and  says : 
"  My  foot  is  on  my  native  heather  and  my  name  is  Mac 
Gregor !"  nor  did  he  belong  to  that  peculiar  set  with  which 

society  is  sometimes  molested — those  sacks  of  wind,  inflating 
25 


290  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

and  collapsing  just  as  the  spur  of  the  moment  dictates, 
catching  at  every  new  humbug,  every  popular  theme ;  nor  a 
double-fisted,  propelling  Hercules,  who  keeps  the  world 
dodging  on  either  side,  so  if  he  does  fight  the  battle  of  life 
manfully,  he  gains  nothing  by  the  combat  but  a  knowledge 
of  mankind  and  an  equivocal  reputation.  He  could  not  be 
placed  among  the  slow-and-sure  beings — remarkably  slow 
and  sure  to  do  nothing,  with,  whom  it  is  wearysome  and 
unprofitable  to  travel  the  long,  rough  road  of  connubial 
life — a  drone,  whose  saccharine  disposition  subjects  you  to 
none  of  the  varieties  of  matrimony,  but  forever  moves  on 
in  his  course,  like  the  routine  of  a  treadmill,  or  sits  up 
like  a  weathercock,  veering  with  every  breeze  of  the  com 
pass.  He  is  still  better  than  the  cream-faced  hypocrite, 
sub  rosa,  in  all  his  measures,  private  or  public,  with  scarcely 
courage  enough  to  defend  his  umbrella  —  let  alone  his 
wife. 

A  woman  is  never  proud  of  a  silent  husband,  who 
holds  his  head  up  like  a  sign-post,  and  looks,  for  all  the 
world,  as  if  he  was  playing  club -fist  and  was  determined 
not  to  be  caught  napping.  He  never  enters  into  explana 
tions — his  wife  knows  no  more  about  him  or  his  business 
than  she  does  of  the  Royal- Arch  Chapter  of  Masonry.  She 
can  never  guess  his  thoughts  or  anticipate  his  wishes. 
When  at  home,  he  prefers  "Harper,"  though  a  month 
old,  to  the  converse  of  his  wife  or  the  prattle  of  the  curly 
headed  boy,  who  sits  as  still  on  his  little  chair  as  a  wax- 
figure  in  a  show-window.  If  he  promenades,  his  wife  goes 
by  his  side,  like  a  self-propelling  walking-cane.  If  he 
happens  to  speak,  his  remarks  are  sententious,  uninterest 
ing,  and  unedifying.  So  they  pass  on  through  life. 


MKS.  BEN  DARBT.  291 

What  a  long,  long  road  it  must  be ;  it  seems  intermin 
able.  Single  blessedness  is  a  joke  to  it. 

Clarence  Duval  and  Kate  Fairmont  bid  fair  for  a  happy 
pilgrimage.  Everybody  said  they  were  made  for  each  other. 

"  Hers  the  mild  luster  of  the  rising  moon, 
And  his  the  radiance  of  the  open  day." 

They  left,  the  morning  after  their  marriage,  to  visit  his 
friends,  and  settle  down  at  Saratoga  for  the  season.  Cla 
rence  was  devoted  to  his  bride,  he  seemed  to  almost  wor 
ship  her;  for  a  week,  nothing  could  tempt  him  an  hour 
from  her  side.  He  evinced  no  disposition  to  engage  in  any 
thing  that  separated  them.  She  dreamed  on ;  'she  heard 
his  praises  from  every  mouth,  and  listened,  like  a  devotee, 
to  the  eulogiums  bestowed  upon  him  by  strangers.  She 
had  never  known  his  history,  therefore,  she  had  nothing  to 
do  but  to  dream. 

Thus  passed  the  hours  away  on  golden  wings,  and  hope 
keeping  sentinel  at  the  entrance  of  her  heart. 

The  honeymoon  had  scarcely  passed,  when  some  of 
Clarence's  old  associates  arrived  at  the  Springs  ;  not  for  the 
renewal  of  health,  but  for  the  reimbursement  of  their  purses. 
They  knew  that  he  was  there  with  his  young  bride — that 
her  future  happiness  depended  on  his  strict  adherence  to 
the  temperance  pledge.  What  cared  they  for  that?  They 
noticed  his  attentions  to  his  wife ;  they  noticed  his  temper 
ance  at  table — his  lofty  and  proud  bearing  among  the  e"lite 
of  the  grades  by  which  he  was  surrounded ;  they  knew, 
too,  his  weak  point,  that  there  was  a  little  crevice  in  his  na 
ture  through  which  every  moral  principle  could  be  reached, 
if  not  entirely  destroyed. 


292  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

Whenever  opportunity  occurred,  they  assailed  him  at 
every  point — congratulated  him  on  his  splendid  prospects  ; 
praised  the  beauty  and  grace  of  his  young  wife — by  de 
grees  drew  him  more  frequently  from  her  side — assailed 
him  with  reproaches  for  deserting  old  friends.  Frazier, 
more  audacious  than  the  rest,  accused  him  of  being  ruled 
by  his  wife  ;  and  although  Clarence  was  disgusted  with  his 
coarse  inuendoes,  yet  still  he  felt  them.  Ridicule  to  him 
was  insufferable,  except  when  too  drunk  to  heed  its  pointed 
arrow. 

"Why  don't  your  wife  waltz?"  asked  Frazier,  with  well- 
feigned  surprise.  "  If  I  had  as  charming  a  woman,  I  would 
make  her  waltz  ;  trot  her  out  and  clear  the  stakes.  By 
heavens  !  I  would,  Duval." 

"  My  wife  is  opposed  to  dancing  altogether,"  said  Clar 
ence,  hurriedly. 

"  I  would  soon  cure  her  of  that,  I  warrant  you.  If  she 
was  to  see  you  waltzing  with  the  finest  looking  woman  you 
could  find,  you  would  soon  see  her  floating  through  the 
mazes  of  a  waltz,  with  the  airy  agility  of  Peter  Wilkins's 
winged  wife." 

"  You  do  not  know  her,  Frazier,  therefore  have  no  right 
to  venture  an  opinion  on  what  she  might  or  might  not  do." 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  offend  you,  Clarence  ;  why,  you  are 
growing  so  testy." 

"  The  effects  of  matrimony,"  said  a  tall,  pale-visaged 
youth,  with  a  glorious  red  moustache.  "  Young  husbands 
are  always  so." 

"  Ha  !  ha  !"  laughed  Frazier,  "  you  ought  to  know  Clar 
ence  Duval  better  than  to  suppose  matrimony  would  change 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  293 

him.  Give  us  your  hand,  old  comrade,"  and  Frazier  left 
him  for  that  day.  Like  a  wary  spider,  he  had  not  yet  com 
pleted  his  web,  so  that  it  would  close  around  his  victim. 
He  spun  on,  and  his  prey  came  nearer  and  nearer  every 
day. 

"  Clarence,"  said  Frazier,  coming  up  suddenly  behind 
him,  and  laying  his  hand  familiarly  upon  his  shoulder,  "  I 
have  just  made  a  bet  with  Allen,  and  we  agreed  to  leave  it 
to  you  to  decide." 

"What  is  it  ?"  asked  Clarence. 

"  He  says  your  wife  is  a  Methodist.  I  swore  it  was  slan 
der." 

"  You  have  lost  your  bet,"  replied  Clarence,  flinching  at 
the  idea  of  his  wife  being  the  subject  of  their  controversy. 

"  Ah  !  I  ask  pardon,"  said  Frazier,  drawing  back,  with 
well-assumed  temerity.  "  I  hope  I  have  not  offended 
you." 

"  By  no  means,"  answered  Duval. 

"It  seemed  so  comical,"  ventured  Frazier,  "for  a  man 
of  your  free  habits  to  marry  a " 

"You  have  said  enough  on  the  subject,  Frazier,"  said 
Duval,  with  a  flushed  cheek.  "Another  remark  will  subject 
you  to  my  displeasure."  He  walked  off,  but  before  he  got 
beyond  hearing,  his  ears  were  assailed  by  a  burst  of  merri 
ment,  of  which,  no  doubt,  he  was  the  subject. 

No  sooner  had  Clarence  left  them  than  Frazier  and  his 
companion  made  a  bet,  that  if  Clarence  could  be  forced  to 
dance,  his  wife  would  not  remain  an  idle  spectator  of  the 
scene.  Frazier  said  he  knew  the  women  too  well  to  doubt 
it,  but  young  Allen  declared  that  Mrs.  Duval  was  religious 


294  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

from  principle.  They  agreed  that  Allen  should  intrigue 

Clarence  to  dance  with  the  beautiful  Miss  G ,  and  Fra- 

zier  pledged  himself  to  achieve  the  rest. 

One  evening  she  was  sitting  in  the  Verandah.  It  was 
crowded,  but  her  husband  was  not  there.  He  had  often 
left  her  alone  in  the  last  two  days,  but  Kate  had  not  felt 
the  change.  She  was  not  selfish,  and  felt  happy  to  think 
her  husband  was  enjoying  himself;  but  this  evening  she 
felt  a  little  sad,  or  rather  reflective.  She  sat  watching  the 
clouds  as  they  passed  the  stars,  dimming  up  their  bright 
ness,  until  the  moon  suddenly  bathed  the  trees  and  lawns 
in  a  flood  of  light.  Her  thoughts  wandered  beyond  the 
blue  sky ;  she  felt  that  the  world,  even  when  it  showered 
its  golden  favors,  had  not  power  to  satisfy  the  immortal 
mind.  The  soul  needs  the  converse  of  angels  ;  it  cannot 
be  trammeled  down  to  the  rusty  usages  of  earth,  but  seeks 
to  satiate  its  longings  in  the  dark,  mysterious  future — that 
future  bears  a  charm,  because  it  is  mysterious.  Kate  was 
unconscious  of  the  flight  of  time,  until  she  heard  the  music 
and  the  dancing.  She  looked  up,  and  Clarence  was  stand 
ing  before  her  ;  the  crowd  was  dispersing. 

"  Clarence,"  said  she,  touching  his  arm,  "  look  at  those 
beautiful  clouds,  tipped  with  the  color  of  the  rose." 

"  Splendid,"  said  Clarence. 

"  Look  at  that  white  cloud  that  hangs,  as  it  were,  from 
the  moon.  It  looks  like  the  gate  of  heaven;  the  columns 
are  carved  and  inlaid  with  silver,  and  set  with  diamonds. 
There  stands  the  angel  of  admittance,  in  his  long  white 
robes.  Those  who  enter  the  glorious  portals  go  out  no 
more  forever.  I  can  almost  see  through  it:" 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  296 

Oh !  the  transporting,  rapturous  scene 

That  rises  to  my  sight, 
Sweet  fields  arrayed  in  living  green, 

And  rivers  of  delight. 

There  generous  fruits,  that  never  fafl, 

On  trees  immortal  grow; 
There  rocka,  and  hills,  and  brook  and  vale, 

With  milk  and  honey  flow. 

No  chilling  wind  and  poisonous  breath 

Can  reach  that  happy  shore, 
Sickness  and  sorrow,  pain  and  death, 

Are  feared  and  felt  no  more. 

Filled  with  delight 

"  For  God's  sake,  Kate,  desist,"  said  Clarence,  in  a  low 
voice,  slightly  shaking  her  arm.  "  Only  see,  how  they 
are  gathering  to  listen  to  your  voice." 

"  Indeed,  I  was  not  conscious  of  it,"  replied  she,  hur 
riedly  drawing  back  into  the  shadow  of  the  door.  "  I  was 
singing  very  low." 

"  Very,  dear,  but  you  have  no  idea  how  strange  it 
sounded." 

"What,  Clarence?" 

"  That  hymn  you  were  singing." 

"  Do  you  really  think  so,  or  are  you  only  quizzing  me?" 

"  Everything  you  sing,  dearest,  sounds  musical  to  my  ear, 
but  remember,  there  is  a  good  variety  of  ears  at  Saratoga." 

"  Some  long  ones,  no  doubt,"  said  Kate,  with  her  sly, 
mischievous  look,  which  was  always  irresistible. 

"  That  may  be,  my  little  wife,  but  you  know  we  must 
conform  to  the  rules  of  society.  We  must  do  as  our  circle 
does,  or  be  subject  to  its  animadversions.  Now,  who  ever 
heard  that  ditty  sung  here  in  the  very  midst  of  fashion  ?" 

"  Oh !  Clarence  !  how  can  you  call  that  lovely  hymn  a 


296  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

ditty — it  is  a  libel  on  your  good,  taste  ;"  she  tried  to  smile, 
but  could  not,  a  tear,  a  legitimate  tear  came  rolling  sud 
denly  from  her  eye. 

"You  are  too  enthusiastic,  dear — do  you  know  that  1  am 
sometimes  jealous." 

"  Of  whom,  Clarence  ?  tell  me." 

"No  one  in  particular  —  but  you  are  such  an  etherial 
being,  I  am  afraid,  some  day,  you  will  glide  from  my  arms 
like  a  sunbeam." 

"You  do  but  jest,  Clarence — I  am  nothing  but  a  wo 
man — a  very  frail  one  too." 

"  No  Kate,  you  are  perfect — too  much  so  for  this  world ; 
I  wish  you  could  be,  dear,  a  little  less  religious." 

"Less  religious!"  replied  the  young  wife,  as  if  she  had 
not  heard  aright.  "  Clarence,  I  was  just  thinking  that  I 
had  not  been  as  faithful  in  my  duty  to  my  Maker,  as  I 
ought  to  have  been — I  have  been  so  engrossed  with  your 
affection — with  your  society " 

"You  are  entirely  too  devout,  Kate — you  ought  to  con 
form  more  to  the  maxims  and  customs  of  the  world.  You 
are  very  young,  and  very  beautiful — you  ought  to  be  the 
gayest  of  the  gay — join  in  waltzing,  and  the  amusements 
that  surround  you.  I  should  glory  in  seeing  you  the 
'observed  of  all  observers.'  I  am  ambitious  Kate,  you 
know — and  very  proud  of  my  wife.  If  she  was  only  a  little 
more  earthly — " 

Kate  pressed  her  lips  together,  a  wild  emotion  checked 
her  utterance. 

"There  are  some  old  acquaintances  here  of  mine — I 
should  like  to  astonish  them,  Kate — I  know  you  would  be 
irresistible  if  you  were  gayer." 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  297 

• 

"I  care  for  no  man's  admiration  but  yours,  Clarence," 
replied  Kate.  "I  am  sorry — at  least  I  always  feared  that  I 
was  too  simple  for  one  so  gifted  as  you.  Oh!  my  husband, 
be  well  assured  of  one  thing — I  will  never  prove  unworthy 
of  your  regard.  I  will  perform  my  duty — God  helping 
me — but  I  cannot  forget  the  precepts  of  my  mother,  or 
turn  from  the  cross  of  my  Redeemer." 

"What  harm  is  it  to  dance  a  little? — it  cannot  injure  you, 
and  would  be  beneficial  to  your  health,  much  more  so  than 
moping  about  here  talking  to  the  moon,  and  imagining  a 
thousand  impossibilities." 

"There  is  no  harm  m  being  cheerful  and  gay,"  replied 
Kate,  smiling  sweetly,  "and  I  will  jump  and  skip  with  you, 
as  much  as  you  please.  I  have  felt  very  happy  since  I 
have  been  here — enjoyed  myself  very  much — but  I  do  not 
believe  that  a  pure-minded  wife,  feels  any  additional  hap 
piness,  from  having  the  arms  of  half  the  men  in  the  house 
around  her  waist.  A  wife  should  be  as  chaste  as  the 
icicle  that  hangs  upon  Diana's  Temple." 

"You  are  too  rigid — too  musty  in  your  notions  for  one  so 
youthful — but  you  are  very  lovely  in  everything  else,"  his 
face  flushed,  and  he  seemed  over  earnest.  "But  I  sup 
pose,"  added  he  "  I  shall  have  to  bear  it " 

"Clarence,"  said  Kate,  looking  him  unshrinkingly  in  his 
eyes,  "  I  told  you  before  we  were  married,  that  I  was  a 
professor  of  religion — a  member  of  the  church — you  knew 
every  sentiment  of  my  heart — it  was  open  to  your  inspec 
tion — no  concealment  whatever — all  was  fair  as  day — I 
told  you  often,  I  was  too  plain,  too  simple  in  my  manners 
and  ways.  Did  I  not?" 

"Surely  you  did — and  you  are  the  very  best  wife  in  the 


298  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

world,    only   a   little   too   sober — but  see,   yonder   comes 
Frazier,  he  wishes  to  be  introduced  to  you." 

Kate  took  the  arm  of  her  husband,  and  sought  once 
more  the  brilliant  scene. 

She  was  introduced  to  Frazier ;  but  being  well  acquainted 
with  his  character,  having  had  it  from  Elinor  Temple, 
she  shuddered  at  the  sight  of  the  smooth-faced  hypocrite. 

Clarence  was  afraid  of  offending  Frazier,  and  having 
nothing  to  risk  on  his  wife's  behalf,  left  them  standing 
together. 

He  invited  her  to  promenade — but  Kate  coldly  refused, 
and  seated  herself  in  the  first  vacant  chair  that  offered 
itself.  He  threw  himself  gracefully  beside  her  on  an  otto 
man. 

"  I  have  not  seen  you  waltz,  Mrs.  Duval." 

"  You  never  will,  sir,  I  presume — I  hope  I  shall  never 
render  myself  so  ridiculous." 

"Ah  !   indeed,  I  was  not  aware  of  your  sentiments." 

"  Of  course  not,  sir." 

"  You  dance  sometimes,"  said  Frazier  with  consummate 
assurance. 

"  Never." 

"  That  is  very  strange,  madam." 

"  Not  very." 

"  May  I  ask  your  reasons  for  being  so  decidedly  singu 
lar — handsome  women  are  in  favor  of  displaying  their 
graces." 

"It  is  against  my  own  convictions  of  right  and  wrong, 
and  against  the  tenets  of  the  church  of  which  I  am  a 

o 

member." 

"Oh   pardon   me,  madam,  if  I  ask  how  rmo  cr»  win  no* 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  %    299 

and  so  lovely,  could  give  up  the  pleasures  of  the  world?  And 
my  friend  Clarence,  do  you  expect  to  keep  him  in  the 
charmed  circle? — he  has  been  a  sad  fellow  in  his  day — you 
will  never  teach  him  your  doctrines." 

"  I  was  not  aware  that  Clarence  had  ever  been  wicked," 
said  Kate. 

"Wicked — Oh  !  my  dear  madam,  I  did  not  dare  insinuate 
that.  Oh !  bless  me,  no! — I  had  only  reference  to  our  jolly 
meetings,  and  innocent  sprees — very  innocent,  I  assure 
you.  Clarence  is  the  life  of  his  company — of  course,  he 
will  desert  us  now." 

"  Of  course,"  repeated  Kate  dryly. 

Herman  Frazier  smiled,  smoothed  his  moustache,  and 
fixed  his  tiger  eyes  on  the  innocent  countenance  of  his 
friend's  wife.  Presently  a  thought  seemed  to  enter  his 
brain.  Suddenly  he  turned  on  his  heel,  and  went  into  the 
saloon  where  the  dancing  was  in  progress — hurrying  back 
to  Mrs.  Duval,  he  said  : 

"  Perhaps,  madam,  you  would  like  to  see  your  husband 
waltz — he  has  the  most  beautiful  lady  in  the  room  for  his 
partner." 

"  He  deserves  the  finest,"  replied  Kate  coolly;  "  as  to 
his  dancing,  sir,  I  have  seen  him  very  frequently  engaged 
in  it — he  is  admirable  in  the  ball  room,  or  in  any  situation 
in  society." 

"Let  me  insist,  Mrs.  Duval,  on  having  your  hand  for 
once  only  ;  it  would  be  conferring  an  eternal  favor.  Can  I 
not  dare  beg  the  favor?" 

"I  never  dance,  sir;  and  thank  fortune!  it  cannot  be 
forced  on  me  as  '  a  medicine,'  sir.  We  will  understand 
each  other  perfectly  well,  when  I  say  I  am  the  cousin  of 


300  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

Elinor  Temple.  I  wish  you  good  evening,  sir,"  and  rising 
hastily,  she  sought  another  room  and  other  company. 

"  You  cannot  wish  me  to  associate  with  Herman  Fra- 
zier?"  said  Kate,  as  she  and  her  husband  left  the  rooms. 

"No,"  replied  Clarence,  hurriedly;  "but  treat  him  with 
civility.  He  is  not  a  fit  associate  for  either  of  us,  but  he  is 
hard  to  deal  with." 

"He  ought  to  be  expelled  from  society!"  said  Kate. 

"  Well,  dear,  we  will  tiy  to  shun  him ;  but  pray,  do  not 
offend  him.  The  fact  is,  we  are  old  college  associates,  and 
you  know,  a  man  never  gains  popularity  by  cutting  his  for 
mer  friends." 

"  Popularity  is  purchased  very  dearly  at  such  prices," 
said  the  young  wife. 

Clarence  accompanied  her  to  their  chamber,  and  excus 
ing  himself  for  an  hour,  left  her  to  her  own  reflections  and 
the  solitude  of  night.  She  undressed  herself ;  read  a  chap 
ter  in  her  bible ;  prayed  long  and  fervently;  looked  out  at 
the  stars ;  thought  of  home,  of  mother,  and  dear,  dear 
Elinor.  Another  hour  and  another ;  the  lights  went  out 
one  by  one  ;  the  locking  of  doors  ceased ;  no  steps  were 
heard  along  the  halls  but  the  heavy  tread  of  the  watch — 
sometimes  the  cough  of  an  invalid — not  often  ;  then  a  noise 
of  revelry  in  a  distant  room.  Another  hour,  and  the  pale 
bride  sought  her  pillow  and  wept — wept ! 

The  first  rays  of  morning  came  softly  to  that  silent  cham 
ber  ;  the  lamp  was  still  burning,  but  Kate  was  sleeping 
gently  as  in  childhood  ;  there  was  a  flush  on  her  cheek  and 
tears,  that  lay  like  ice-pearls  on  her  long  eyelashes,  told  the 
secret  of  her  heart. 

A  shadow  passes  around  the  couch,  with  unsteady  steps ; 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  301 

the  husband  of  a  month  draws  aside  the  muslin  curtain — • 
he  looks  upon  the  form,  so  child-like  and  so  helpless — con 
science  stirs  up  the  shattered  fidelity  of  his  soul ;  he  curses 
his  weakness ;  bitter  remorse  is  working  within  him ;  he 
tries  to  undress  himself,  but  is  perfectly  unnerved ;  he  tries 
to  extinguish  the  lamp,  but  cannot  reach  it — he  falls  back, 
an  object  of  disgust  and  brutal  inebriation. 


302  MKS.  BEN  DAKBF. 


28. 


She  rested  her  head  on  her  hand  and  wept  bitterly. — WALTER  SCOTT. 

WHEN  Kate  awoke  the  next  morning,  the  sun  was  glar 
ing  full  on  the  face  of  the  prostrate  form  of  her  husband. 
It  was  in  vain  she  tried  to  bring  him  to  himself.  Mortified 
by  the  events  of  the  night,  she  could  not  summon  courage 
enough  to  meet  the  unfeeling  crowd  below.  She  closed 
her  door  against  all  intruders  and  commenced  packing  up 
her  wardrobe. 

Clarence  had  spent  the  night  with  the  human  vultures 
who  had  so  ingeniously  beset  him.  He  had  broken  his 
pledge  and  lost  large  sums  at  cards.  Frazier  exulted  over 
his  conquest  and  took  particular  pains,  as  he  afterward  said, 
to  brace  him  up  tight. 

His  wife  was  deeply  afflicted,  but  forced  back  her  emo 
tions  and  prepared  herself  for  a  campaign  of  warfare.  No 
murmur  or  reproach  reached  the  ears  of  Duval. 

This  was  the  first  step  after  marriage. 

That  afternoon  they  returned  to  New  York  city.  Duval 
paused  and  determined  to  reform.  He  was  very  popular 
and  bid  fair  to  become  a  distinguished  citizen.  He  made 
many  political  speeches  during  the  presidential  canvass,  for 
which  he  gained  the  warmest  applause.  He  kept  very 
sober  and  steady  for  months ;  his  wife  prayed  and  trusted. 
Ah,  me  1  if  prayers  would  arrest  the  victim  of  intemperance 


MRS.  BEN  DABBY.  303 

and  dash  the  chalice  of  poison  from  his  lips,  there  would 
not  be  many  drunkards.  Every  devotee  of  alcohol  has 
some  fond  heart  yearning  for  his  reformation;  although 
prayers  may  be  unavailing  for  them  still  they  are  never 
lost — they  bring  to  the  fountain  from  which  they  spring 
blessings  subsidiary  to  every  effort  of  faith  and  love. 

Clarence,  poor  Clarence,  saw  his  situation ;  he  was  con 
scious  of  the  awful  precipice  before  him — the  yawning  gulf 
below ;  he  heard  the  music  of  love  wooing  him  back  to  his 
earthly  paradise;  but  like  one  in  a  dream,  he  had  not 
power  to  break  the  charm  that  bound  him.  Fortune  smiled 
in  vain.  In  vain  his  friends  surrounded  him  with  every 
incentive  to  sobriety.  They  sustained  and  propped  him. 

He  lamented  the  crooked  paths  he  had  made,  but  shunned 
not  the  buoys  that  marked  the  shoals  and  quicksands  that 
surrounded  him.  He  acknowledged,  with  the  frankness  of 
a  child,  his  delinquencies;  made  the  strongest  and  most 
vehement  promises  to  desist  from  his  pernicious  habits; 
but  when  temptation  assailed  him  all  was  forgotten  but  the 
enchanted  cup. 

After  frequently  breaking  his  promises,  he  felt  debased 
and  humiliated ;  to  escape  this  poignant  feeling  and  to  save 
the  feelings  of  his  wife,  whenever  he  felt  the  approach  of 
that  insatiable  thirst  for  stimulus  taking  full  possession  of 
his  faculties,  he  would  form  excuses  for  absence — urgent 
business  in  Washington  or  Baltimore.  Sometimes  he  did 
not  go  further  than  Brooklyn ;  he  then  commenced  a  regu 
lar  course  of  voracious  absorption.  Without  leaving  his 
room  for  a  week  at  a  time,  he  consumed  bottle  after  bottle, 
until  his  nervous  system  was  unable  to  sustain  the  tax 
upon  its  vitality.  Entirely  prostrated,  he  would  fall  into  a 


304  MRS.  BEN  DARBT. 

stupor,  which  either  ended  in  morbid  debility  or  horrid 
delirium.  He  would  then  refrain,  recover  his  usual  ability, 
and  return  home  to  his  wife.  Such  a  course  as  this,  how 
ever,  could  not  be  pursued  long  without  making  inroads 
upon  his  mind,  body,  and  estate.  Clarence  began  to  feel 
it  in  every  respect  and  tried  hard  to  reform ;  yes,  I  will  do 
him  justice,  he  tried  hard,  but  his  disease  had  assumed  a 
chronic  form  and  required  the  most  potent  restoratives. 

A  new  motive  for  exertion,  a  new  tie  to  draw  him  back 
to  the  garden  of  the  affections.  It  came  from  God,  and  it 
came  in  the  form  of  an  angel — an  earthly  angel,  sent  to  call 
him  back  to  virtue. 

Clarence  was  moved  to  tears  when  it  was  given  to  his 
arms ;  and,  laying  it  on  the  bosom  of  its  mother,  he  knelt 
before  it  and  prayed  for  strength,  for  nerve,  to  resist  temp 
tation.  No  doubt,  if  he  had  continued  his  devotion  as  a 
daily  habit,  the  tempter  would  have  left  him — his  contrition 
would  have  availed  at  last;  but  this  praying  once  in  a  great 
while,  and  under  peculiar  circumstances,  is  not  as  effica 
cious  as  that  of  the  woman  who  pleaded  with  the  judge, 
and  who  was  heard  for  her  importunity,  and  blessed  for  her 
faith: 

"  A  faith,  that  shines  more  bright  and  clear, 

When  tempests  rage  without — 
That,  when  in  danger,  knows  no  fear, 
In  darkness  feels  no  doubt  1 

A  faith  that  keeps  the  narrow  way, 

Till  life's  last  hour  is  fled, 
And  with  a  pure  and  heavenly  ray, 

Illumes  a  dying  bed." 

Clarence  kept  his  good  resolution  for  some  months. 
Kate  had  recovered  from  her  confinement,  and  little  Robin 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  306 

was  just  beginning  to  "hold  up  his  head,  and  look  like  a 
little  man,"  a  requisition  which  is  made  untimely  and  incon 
siderately  of  gentlemen  babies  !  They  will  hold  up  their 
heads  soon  enough  if  let  alone,  and,  in  course  of  time,  will 
look  like  men  (some  never  will).  However,  as  I  was  say 
ing,  Robin  began  to  laugh  and  crow,  and  throw  up  his  little 
fat  arms  as  all  healthy  children  do.  He  was,  of  course, 
the  idol  of  father  and  mother.  Kate  loved  him  more, 
because  he  had  been  the  means  of  reforming  his  father. 

Women  are  so  confiding,  and  have  been  so  easily  be 
guiled  and  deceived,  ever  since  the  days  of  our  mother  Eve, 
it  seems  to  me,  they  never  will  learn  mistrust.  They  catch 
at  every  little  straw,  every  little  fillet  of  sunshine,  that  cir 
cles  on  life's  waters.  It  matters  not  how  often  the  straws 
sink,  or  the  light  vanishes,  it  is  all  the  same — they  grapple 
at  them  again,  with  renewed  avidity ;  for  life  is  made  up 
of  hopes  and  fears,  broken  sunlight,  and  evening  shadows. 

Kate  promised  herself  that  her  husband  would  never 
drink  again.  She  was  so  happy,  in  her  own  home,  with 
her  dear  Clarence — so  steady  and  reasonable — and  her  pre 
cious  new  baby! 

On  New  Year's  morning,  Mr.  Duval  dressed  himself  to 
make  his  accustomary  visits  on  that  day.  He  never  looked 
handsomer ;  his  wife  felt  so  proud  of  him  as  she  saw  him 
turn  from  the  mirror,  where  he  had  taken  a  last  review,  to 
see  if  all  was  comme  il  faut.  He  kissed  his  wife — tossed  up 
the  "  little  rascal"  in  his  arms,  and  went  out  in  a  charming 
humor  with  himself  and  all  the  world.  He  had  made  but 
a  few  calls,  and  tasted  but  few  glasses  of  wine,  before  the 
demon  of  insatiable  thirst  seized  upon  him  ;  wife,  children, 
friends,  respectability,  decency  —  all  were  forgotten  ;  his 
26 


306  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

aristocratic  adventure  ended  in  a  drunken  spree,  of  brutal 
and  degraded  features. 

Hour  after  hour  passed  away.  The  servants  retired  to 
rest.  Kate  sat  watching  the  omnibuses  as  they  passed  up 
and  down,  expecting  every  moment  to  see  her  husband 
spring  from  one  of  them.  At  last  the  noises  ceased  gradu 
ally;  the  carriages  ceased  running,  and  comparative  silence 
reigned,  where  so  late  all  was  confusion  and  discord. 
The  rain  began  to  fall,  and  the  wind  awoke  up  as  from 
a  deep  sleep.  Robin  opened  his  eyes,  smiled  and  frol 
icked,  because  the  bright  rays  of  the  gas  flickered  and 
flared  over  his  cradle. 

Oh  !  how  I  do  wish  he  would  come,  thought  Kate  — 
the  baby  is  so  lively  ! — his  papa  never  saw  him  in  such  a 
humor  !  dear,  precious  lamb  !  Then  she  would  walk  the 
room,  and,  looking  at  the  comforts  which  surrounded  her, 
solace  herself  with  the  thought  that  she  was  not  entirely 
deserted  and  miserable,  as  she  might  be.  She  was  not 
exposed  to  the  mercy  of  the  elements  —  she  had  shelter 
and  friends ;  then  the  sweet  babe  (acting  as  if  it  were 
"bewitched,")  in  the  cradle  !  Oh  !  what  a  blessing  pre 
cious  Robin  was  to  his  lonely  mamma  ! 

She  was  still  sitting  over  the  expiring  coals,  half  un 
dressed,  trying,  in  vain,  to  subdue  the  gymnastic  exer 
cises  of  the  cradle  performer,  dreading,  she  scarce  could 
tell  what  ;  the  door  bell  was  handled  very  unceremoni 
ously.  Without  waiting  to  see  if  the  summons  was 
regarded  by  the  servant,  she  glided  down,  with  a  shawl 
about  her  shoulders,  and  opened  the  door.  She  turned 
pale,  and  would  have  fainted,  in  all  probability,  had  she 
not  caught  in  her  rapid  glance  without,  the  terrible  eyes  of 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  307 

Herman  Frazier  upon  her,  like  the  gloating  glance  of  a 
prairie  wolf ! 

Clarence  was  too  drunk  to  walk.  Two  men  were 
supporting  him  by  his  arms  —  his  whole  body,  heavy  and 
languid,  hung  loose  and  lifeless.  The  wife  comprehended 
the  whole  matter  in  a  moment.  Those  men  were  police 
officers.  Frazier  and  her  husband  had  been  drinking. 
They  had  tried  to  find  the  way  home,  but  could  not. 
Clarence  had  fallen  over  the  curb  into  the  gutter.  Fra 
zier  had  raised  a  muss,  and  the  police  had  to  be  sum 
moned. 

Clarence  Duval —  the  proud,  the  noble,  the  talented, 
the  beloved  father  of  her  darling  boy  !  Kate  stood  firmly 
in  the  doorway. 

"  Gentlemen,"  she  said,  smothering  her  emotion, 
"please  take  my  husband  to  his  room  —  the  one  that  is 
lighted."  She  held  the  door  as  they  brought  him  in,  then 
closing  it  on  the  form  of  Herman  Frazier,  who  pressed 
against  it. 

"  Desist,  sir !  I  will  let  no  drunkard  enter  this  house 
but  its  master !"  She  fastened  the  door,  and  followed 
the  officers  up.  After  they  had  deposited  their  burden 
upon  a  sofa,  they  left,  with  injunctions  from  Mrs.  Duval, 
to  take  away  with  them  the  man  on  the  steps.  Poor  hu 
man  nature — how  fallen  ! — how  low  ! 

"  Clarence  !  Clarence  !"  said  his  wife,  in  a  burst  of 
agony.  No  answer.  The  rest  of  the  night  was  spent 
with  a  madman!  Even  the  cradle,  with  the  little  new 
comer,  had  to  be  removed  for  safety.  This  is  no  fiction — 
but  the  picture  of  a  home — a  drunkard's  home  ! 


308  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 


29. 


Sweet  are  the  uses  of  adversity, 

Which,  like  the  toad,  ugly  and  venomous, 

Wears  yet  a  precious  jewel  in  his  head. — As  YOU  LIKE  rr. 

•  WEEKS  and  months  of  dissipation  wrought  a  distressing 
change  in  Clarence's  affairs  ;  his  prospects  were  under  a 
cloud — business  ceased — friends  became  weary  of  his  reck 
lessness  —  men  of  business  habits  and  steady  morality 
looked  coolly  on  him.  Mrs.  Fairmont  had  moved  to  the 
country,  to  rear  her  small  children,  and  was  not  apprised  of 
her  daughter's  situation.  His  own  relatives  had  borne  with 
him  until  patience  was  no  longer  a  virtue  ;  (at  least  they 
viewed  it  in  that  light)  his  wife's  ample  fortune  was  going 
like  snow-flakes  beneath  a  March  sun  ;  how  could  it  be 
otherwise,  when  there  was  no  management  or  economy  to 
husband  its  interest ;  Kate  looked  on,  and  seeing  but  little 
ground  remaining  to  rebuild  her  hopes  on,  was  sad  and 
almost  heart-broken.  Reflecting  long  and  gravely  on  the 
subject,  she  at  last  made  up  her  mind. 

It  was  a  dark,  rainy  night ;  Robin  had  just  recovered 
from  a  violent  sickness — Theodore  had  been  his  physician, 
and  Elinor  his  nurse  ;  Clarence  had  come  out  from  one  of 
his  "big  drunks,"  as  the  Indians  call  it,  and  sat  moodily 
over  the  fire,  with  his  hair  disheveled — his  feet  half-way 
in  his  slippers,  the  very  picture  of  debauchery — the  wreck 
of  all  that  was  glorious,  brilliant  in  form,  affection  and 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  309 

intellect ;  Kate,  gentle  and  fresh,  as  in  the  first  days  of 
marriage,  watched  his  every  wish,  every  comfort ;  but  she 
possessed  a  sensitiveness  which  made  her  recoil  from  sym 
pathy  ;  this  was  her  weak  point ;  she  was  proud,  and  her 
pride  had  been  wounded  by  the  conduct  of  her  husband  : 
she  resolved  to  make  one  more  effort  to  redeem  her  former 
prospects — her  standing  in  society ;  yes,  she  would  make 
one  more  struggle  before  the  waves  closed  over  her  ! 

Drawing  her  chair  closely  beside  him,  she  laid  her  hand 
on  his,  and  looked  him  full  in  his  face. 

"  Clarence,  did  you  know  that  our  money  affairs  are  in 
much  disorder,  and  need  attention  ;  that  we  must  sell  stock 
to  pay  debts  ?" 

"How  did  that  come  to  light?"  asked  Duval,  grumly  ; 
"  it  is  not  a  woman's  place  to  search  into  her  husband's 
affairs." 

"  I  did  not,  Clarence;  but  uncle  Temple  was  here  yes 
terday,  and  told  me  that  things  were  getting  quite  des 
perate." 

"  Certainly,  I  know  my  own  business." 

"What  are  your  future  plans;  if  you  will  confide  in  me 
I  shall  be  able  to  assist  you  in  arranging  your  accounts." 

"  Attend  to  house  concerns,  Mrs.  Duval  ;  look  after  your 
cook  and  chambermaid." 

"I  have  been  my  own  cook  for  weeks,  Clarence,"  replied 
Kate,  in  a  husky  voice  ;  "  my  chambermaid  left  before 
Robin  had  the  croup." 

"  I  was  not  aware  of  that,"  replied  the  husband,  with  a 
bitter  sneer  ;  "  it  is  a  queer  fancy,  but  it  is  your  business, 
not  mine." 

"  "We  must  curtail  expenses,"  dear,  said  his  wife,  trying 


310  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

to  keep  up  her  resolution  despite  of  his  nonchalance  ;  "  and 
I  think  husband " 

"  What  do  you  think,  I  am  impatient  to  hear,"  he  said, 
in  mock  gravity. 

Kate  tried  to  speak,  but  felt  exactly  as  if  she  had  an  india- 
rubber  ball  working  up  and  down  her  throat ;  she  turned 
her  face  toward  the  fire,  rubbed  her  hands  together  nerv 
ously,  and  suddenly  bent  over  the  cradle. 

"Nay,"  cried  Clarence,  the  blood  rushing  to  his  tem 
ples,  "  I  insist  on  knowing  your  thoughts." 

"  Listen,  then,"  said  Kate,  with  sudden  energy ;  "  I 
have  long  wanted  to  speak ;  I  felt  it  my  duty  to  do  so. 
Clarence  Duval,  hear  me.  I  know  that  I  am  doomed  to  be 
the  wife  of  an  habitual  drunkard  ;  I  see  no  other  hope — I 
know  what  is  before  me  ;  as  you  well  knew  before  you  mar 
ried  me,  I  am  the  child  of  a  drunkard;  my  childhood — no — I 
never  had  any  childhood ;  my  early  days  were  spent  in 
fear,  mortification,  and  want.  I  watched  my  mother's  tor 
tuous  routine  of  trial  and  grievances  ;  I  know  what  is  before 
me,  but  at  the  same  time  I  feel  strong  with  devotion  to  you, 
and  faith  and  love  in  Him  who  will  never  forsake  me ;  I  will 
never  murmur,  nor  reproach  you,  nor  desert  you;  but  one 
thing  I  must  insist  on — it  is  all  I  now  hope  or  expect — take 
me  from  my  friends  and  playmates — take  me  to  some 
strange  land — take  me  where  I  am  not  known  ;  it  kills  me 
to  see  my  friends  tortured  by  my  misfortunes  ;  take  me  to 
some  little  village  on  the  Ohio  river,  or  to  Texas,  where 
sympathy  is  unknown ;  there  I  will  endeavor  to  educate  my 
child,  and  hide  myself  from  the  world's  compassion.  I  can 
not  live  here — I  will  not  tax  my  friends,  or  seek  charity 
from  those  who  look  coldly  on  you  ;  if  I  must  in  the  end 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  311 

rely  on  the  generosity  of  my  fellow-creatures,  I  will  crave 
it  from  the  cold-hearted  stranger.  Draw  up  your  ac 
counts — settle  with  my  guardians,  and  let  us  move  off  to 
some  distant  place." 

Clarence  listened  in  surprise  and  silence  to  her  words ; 
his  heart  had  not  yet  lost  its  every  chord  of  feeling  ;  tears 
fell  from  his  eyes,  and  in  a  burst  of  enthusiasm  he  caught 
her  in  his  arms. 

"  It  shall  be  as  you  please  ;  you  are  my  guardian  spirit ; 
I  know  and  feel  that  I  have  destroyed  your  happiness  ;  I 

will  make  no  new  promises,  but  I  hope,  Kate,  that 

that  the  future  will  recompense  you  for  all  your  privations." 

Earth  has  no  reward  for  her  who  clings  to  the  drunkard's 
fate  with  fidelity  and  trust ;  the  compensation  can  be  found 
but  in  the  joys  of  Heaven ;  Angels  whisper  it  —  God 
gives  it. 


312  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 


Cljapter  3D. 


And  unto  man  he  said,  "  Behold  the  fear  of  the  Lord ;  that  is  wisdom :  and  to 
depart  from  evil  is  understanding. — JOB. 

THE  death  of  Mrs.  Ben  Darby  was  attended  by  so  many 
cruel  and  offensive  incidents,  that  Elinor  never  fully  recov 
ered  from  the  shock.  The  horrible  scenes  of  her  last  mo 
ments  .often  forced  themselves  upon  her  recollection,  in  the 
gayest  circles.  It  was  a  shadow  upon  the  way  of  life,  that 
no  sunshine  could  displace.  Death  is  terrible  at  all  times, 
but  its  horrors  are  chased  away,  when  the  angel  of  mercy 
comes  to  the  sufferer  with  the  olive-branch  of  peace,  and 
the  Savior's  precious  relic,  "  I  am  with  you  always,  even 
unto  the  end  of  the  world."  Elinor  had  no  cheering  evi 
dence  of  a  re-union  with  the  departed,  but  shuddered 
whenever  a  thought  of  her  mother  crossed  her  mind. 

I  will  say  a  word  here  about  young  Harper,  in  order  to 
show  how  the  dearest  objects  of  life  may  be  obtained  by 
the  destitute  and  friendless  young  man — how  all  the  evils 
of  temptation,  want  and  delinquencies  may  be  shunned  by 
him,  who  sets  out  with  a  firm  resolution  never  to  yield  in 
one  iota  where  firmness  and  trust  are  the  weapons  of 
conquest. 

He  commenced  as  poor  as  ever  a  boy  did,  and  progressed 
with  as  little  assistance ;  but  in  his  conduct  displayed  such 
noble  refinement  of  mind — such  a  nice  distinction  of  honor, 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  313 

and  such  unyielding  integrity,  that  every  one  relied  upon 
him  in  the  fullest  faith — even  his  classmates,  who  laughed 
at  his  staid  morality  and  unimpeachable  purity  of  thought. 

Theodore  knew  that  he  was  poor,  and  that  he  had  his 
fortune  to  make  and  his  character  to  establish  in  the  world. 
He  knew,  also,  that  the  Temples  were  interested  in  his  fate — 
that  he  had  a  claim  upon  their  interest,  at  least  he  had  al 
ways  felt  that  he  had.  He  resolved,  from  the  first,  to  be 
the  builder  of  his  own  fortune.  The  idea  of  being  depend 
ent  on  any  one,  was  intolerable  to  him.  He  began  at  the 
foot  of  the  ladder ;  but  a  faithful  adherence  to  truth,  and 
the  discharge  of  the  duties  devolving  upon  him,  no  matter 
how  arduous,  rendered  him  trustworthy  and  persevering. 

This  indomitable  courage,  so  admirable  in  man,  was  a 
bulwark  against  temptation.  He  was  not  gifted  like  Clar 
ence  ;  not  handsome  and  captivating  at  first  sight,  nor  had 
he  such  an  education  ;  but  he  improved  every  opportunity 
of  acquiring  knowledge,  and  lived,  with  the  future  before 
him,  holding  out  its  bright  promise  of  hopeful  success. 
Many  a  youth  has  started  in  life  with  good  principles,  and 
a  fair  conception  of  right  and  wrong;  but  the  want  of 
moral  courage  has  left  them  open  to  new  incentives. 

When  Theodore  left  Mr.  Temple  and  Elinor  in  the  omni 
bus,  it  was  with  a  determination  never  to  present  himself 
before  him  again  in  a  dependent  situation.  He  despised 
the  low,  retrograde  situation  in  which  he  was  living,  carry 
ing  bricks  from  morning  until  night,  without  relaxation  or 
mental  advancement. 

"  I  will  never  lift  another  brick  !"  cried  Theodore,  shak 
ing  his  fists  together,  "  never  !     I  will  not  be  an  object  of 
pity  and  compassion  to  my  few  friends — such  friends  too  ; 
27 


314  MKS.  BEN  DARBY. 

I  will  let  them  see  I  am  a  man — that  I  can  fight  the  battle 
of  life  like  a  hero,  and  take  my  stand  in  society,  side  by 
side,  with  them.  I  will  be  Elinor's  equal,  or  never  again 
offend  her  sight.  When  she  receives  me  again,  it  shall  be 
as  a  brother.  I  will  not  cause  the  tears  to  start  hi  her  eyes 
because  I  am  friendless  and  shabby."  He  looked  at  the 
ring  on  his  little  finger,  which  Elinor  had  forced  upon  it  in 
her  childish  sympathy.  "  No,  Elinor,  I  would  rather  be 
forgotten  than  remembered  in  pity." 

He  was  as  good  as  his  word,  as  far  as  the  brick  was  con 
cerned.  He  returned  no  more  to  his  employer,  but  putting 
his  shirts  in  his  pocket,  which  Hannah  had  bought  for  him, 
he  wandered  down  to  Fulton  ferry  ;  he  stopped  at  a  stall, 
and  bought  him  a  roll  for  his  breakfast.  While  he  sat  on 
an  old  boiler  eating  his  bread,  he  was  accosted  by  a  porter, 
who  was  carrying  baggage  on  board  the  Mermaid,  bound 
for  Cuba. 

"Square  your  yards,  my  lad,  and  let  your  uncle  pass." 

"  You  are  no  uncle  of  mine,"  replied  Theodore,  moving 
up  quickly,  and  smiling  in  his  face. 

"  Can  you  prove  it  ?"  asked  the  porter,  with  a  quizzical 
wink. 

"  I  do  not  know  that  I  can." 

"Well,  never  say  a  thing  that  you  can't  establish  afore 
a  jury.  I  say  I  am  your  mother's  brother,  so  come  along  like  a 
good  boy,  and  help  us  carry  this  baggage  to  the  Mermaid." 

Theodore  merrily  laughed,  and  taking  the  heavy  carpet 
bag,  followed  his  new  acquaintance  on  board  the  Mermaid. 

"  Put  it  down  here,  my  fine  fellow,  and  let's  go  and  wet 
our  fore-sheet." 

"  What  is  that  ?"  asked  Theodore,  playfully  putting  his 


MRS.  BEN  DAKBY.  316 

hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  smiling  trustfully  in  his  face.  "Is 
it  to  drink?" 

"  Yes,  my  lad." 

"  Oh  !  well,  I  will  not  drink,"  said  Theodore,  with  a  firm 
look.  "I  would  not  do  it  for  my  best  friend." 

"  Well,  here  is  a  cut  of  tobacco." 

"  I  never  chew,"  said  Theodore. 

"Why  you  don't  know  what  is  good,"  replied  the 
porter. 

"Well,  what  do  you  say  to  a  trip  on  the  Mermaid  ?" 

"  I  should  not  mind  going  if  I  could  make  it  tell,"  re 
plied  the  youth. 

"How?" 

"  Get  wages,  or  do  something  to  give  me  a  lift." 

"  Come  ahead,  then,  my  lark,"  said  the  man. 

Theodore  looked  around  at  the  strange  building  with 
genuine  delight ;  he  had  never  seen  any  larger  vessel  than 
the  sloops  and  schooners  of  the  Appomatox  and  James 
river.  Before  he  was  aware  of  it,  his  new -friend  passed 
him  forward  into  the  cabin,  where  he  ordered  him  to  pull 
off  his  hat. 

"Have  you  succeeded  in  getting  me  a  boy?"  asked  a 
pale,  intellectual  man  lying  on  a  sofa. 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  have  brought  a  chap  here  that  will  do  his 
duty.  What  say  you,  my  boy,  to  a  trip  for  your  health?" 

"All  but  that!"  said  Theodore,  with  his  mountain  blush. 

"Health!"  repeated  the  pale,  harassed  victim  of  dys 
pepsia;  "why  he  would  make  -a  statue  for  a  fountain  of 
Hygieine !" 

"  Well,  to  see  the  world,  my  boy,  what  say  you?"  asked 
his  patron. 


316  MRS.  BEN  DARB?. 

"If  I  could  make  it  profitable,"  replied  Theodore;  "I 
would  not  care  to  go,  but  I  am  poor." 

"  You  need  not  tell  the  gentleman  that,"  said  the  porter, 
with  a  caustic  smile. 

"What  will  you  give  him,  sir?"  asked  the  porter;  "you 
see  he  is  poor." 

"  I  will  not  go  as  a  servant,"  said  Theodore. 

"What  then?"  asked  the  porter. 

"  Sir,"  said  the  youth,  approaching  the  invalid  ;  "  I  will 
nurse  you,  read  for  you,  write,  or  wait  on  you,  as  need 
.may  be,  but  I  want  to  do  this  as  your  friend;  if  my  pas 
sage  will  be  worth  that  to  you,  agreed,  if  not,  why " 

"  There  is  no  harm  done,  my  lad,"  said  an  Irishman, 
who  was  adjusting  the  pillow  under  the  sufferer's  head; 
"  can  you  read  ?" 

"Yes,  and  write  almost  as  good  as  Mr. " 

"Who  is  he?" 

"  Why,  my  old  schoolmaster." 

"  No  doubt,  a  very  worthy  personage.  So  you  are 
willing  to  go  as  a  friend  and  assistant,  but  not  as  a 
servant?" 

"  Not  as  a  servant  if  I  can  help  it." 

"A  friend  is  a  prize,  they  say,"  said  the  sick  gentleman; 
"  I  should  like  to  have  one — I  never  have  had  one — no, 
not  one.  Well,  let  us  try  it.  I  will  pay  your  passage  to 
Cuba.  If  we  can't  get  along  after  that,  why,  we  will  part 
in  peace." 

"I  will  go,"  said  the  boy. 

"  Be  off  for  your  traps,  then,"  said  the  porter. 

"  I  have  none." 

"No  clothes,  my  boy?"  asked  his  new  employer. 


MRS.  BEN  DARBT.  317 

"  None,  sir,  but  a  couple  of  shirts — I  have  them  in  my 
pocket." 

"Why,  he  is  a  perfect  terrapin!"  said  the  porter. 

"  You  will  be  after  taking  leave  of  your  friends,  dar- 
lint  ?"  said  Peter  Malone  ;  "  the  mother  that  bore  you  ?" 

"  I  have  no  friends — my  mother  is  in  heaven !" 

"Oh!  I  ask  pardon;  but  may-be  and  you  have  a  nate 
swateheart  of  your  own,  who  will  look  for  that  face  of  yours 
the  day  out !" 

"  He  is  too  young  for  that,  Peter,"  said  the  patient. 

"  Mayhap,  then,  a  sweet  little  creature  that  loves  him 
like  a  brother." 

Theodore  thought  of  Elinor,  and  a  chill  fell  on  his  heart, 
his  lip  quivered  a  moment,  but  he  looked  unflinchingly  at 
his  interrogators.  He  commenced  his  new  avocations  with 
a  resolution  to  meet  the  approbation  of  his  new  friend  and 
secure  the  good  opinion  of  all  with  whom  circumstances 
might  throw  him.  . 

The  voyage  was  protracted,  yet  it  was  very  pleasant  to 
Theodore ;  its  novelty  was  its  chief  delight. 

Doctor  Mitford  was  quite  young,  but  his  constitution  was 
so  impaired  by  early  excesses  that  he  looked  old  and 
almost  decrepid.  He  had  set  out  in  life  with  a  fine  educa 
tion,  a  handsome  fortune,  and  an  unsullied  character. 

He  became  fond  of  his  cups,  and  although  he  never 
became  an  habitual  drunkard,  still  it  was  the  greatest 
enemy  he  had.  He  drank  hard  until  he  found  his  consti 
tution  failing,  his  practice  declining,  and  his  friends  dropping 
off.  The  young  creature,  whom  his  heart  had  selected  for 
its  idol,  became  disgusted  with  his  intemperance  and 
returned  the  gifts  of  her  affiance  and  parted  forever.  She 


318  MRS.  BEN  DARBT. 

married  a  prudent  and  sober  youth  of  less  pretensions  and 
left  her  former  lover  to  weep  over  the  inconstancy  of 
woman.  He  never  married  but  nurtured  a  morbid  disgust 
to  the  sex  and  humanity  in  general.  He  had  gradually 
broken  off  his  intemperate-  habits  and  was  going  to  Cuba  to 
try  the  climate.  He  was  pleased  with  the  devotion  of  Theo 
dore,  who  nursed  him  like  a  brother  and  attended  to  his  every 
want.  The  invalid  improved  rapidly  in  his  health,  and  as 
he  gained  strength,  he  began  to  show  an  increasing  interest 
for  his  young  companion.  He  devoted  a  part  of  every  day 
to  the  improvement  of  his  developing  faculties.  He  found 
Theodore  a  better  scholar  than  he  expected,  and  after  a 
year's  residence  in  Cuba,  he  commenced  business  in  New 
Orleans  and  Theodore  became  a  student  of  medicine. 
Doctor  Mitford's  business  rendered  young  Harper  indis 
pensable  to  his  employer.  He  began  from  this  period  to 
receive  a  salary  as  clerk  in  the  firm  of  Mitford  &  Morgan. 
In  four  years  he  had  saved  money  enough  to  finish  his  edu 
cation,  and,  with  rigid  economy,  to  support  him  until  he  could 
commence  practice.  He  manfully  succeeded  in  working 
through  all  these  difficulties  ;  after  which  he  came  to  New 
York  to  perfect  himself  in  his  profession  by  practicing  in 
the  hospital. 

While  at  college  he  became  acquainted  with  Mrs.  Sand- 
ford,  who  was  the  sister  of  Doctor  Mitford.  This  will  ex 
plain  why  he  was  so  interested  for  that  desperate  youth. 
When  he  returned  to  New  York,  his  first  thought  was  the 
Temple  family,  and  when  he  saw  Elinor  on  the  New  World 
he  could  scarcely  refrain  from  making  himself  known,  but 
pride  whispered,  wait  a  little  until  you  ascend  a  foot  or  two 
higher  on  the  ladder  of  fortune  ;  and  he  was  patiently  abid- 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  319 

ing  his  time,  when  circumstances  threw  them  together. 
Since  that  period  he  had  become  a  constant  visitor,  and  by 
his  manly,  independent  course  of  conduct  secured  the 
esteem  of  Mr.  Temple  and  the  admiration  of  the  ladies. 

Hannah  Reeves,  who  was  a  very  close  observer  of  matters 
in  general  and  love  affairs  in  particular,  said  that — "  Old 
coals  were  soon  kindled." 


320  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 


31. 

The  sunny  Italy  may  boast 

The  beauteous  tints  that  flush  her  skies, 
And  lovely  round  the  Grecian  coast, 

May  thy  blue  pillars  rise  ; 
I  only  know  how  fair  they  stand 

Around  my  own  beloved  land. — BRYANT. 

ON  the  Ohio  river,  more  than  a  hundred  miles  from  Cin 
cinnati,  stands  a  neat  and  picturesque  village,  that  bears  a 
significant  cognomen,  but  I  will,  in  my  simple  narrative,  call 
it  Hap-Hazard  ;  in  the  first  place,  because  there  are  so 
many  growing  towns  on  that  lovely  stream,  so  nearly  re 
sembling  each  other,  that  you  might  settle  down  in  any 
one  hap-hazard,  and  never  hit  the  right  one.  In  the 
second  place,  the  reader  will  be  very  apt  to  recognize  the 
place,  if  he  has  ever  had  the  pleasure  of  trying  its  unpre 
tending  hospitalities. 

The  place  I  refer  to,  was  composed  of  a  variety  of  the 
human  species.  It  made  up  in  diversity  what  it  lacked  in 
immensity.  Many  of  our  western  settlements  are  composed 
of  persons  from  one  particular  part  of  the  globe.  Some  are 
nearly  all  French  or  Germans  ;  some  are  chiefly  North 
Carolinians  or  New  Jersey  emigrants  ;  some  are  settled 
by  Catholics,  Presbyterians,  or  Quakers.  The  majority 
of  many  of  these  little  villages  belong  to  the  Big  church, 
as  Lorenzo  Dow  used  to  express  it.  But  this  little  village 
is  a  different  affair  ;  it  is  a  mixture  of  all  things  — 


MRS.  BEN.  DARBY.    .  321 

Catholics,  Presbyterians,  Methodists,  Odd  Fellows,  Sons 
of  Temperance,  and  Spirit  Rappers — and  dram  drinkers. 
It  has  several  churches,  a  court-house,  some  dry-good 
stores,  one  milliner  shop,  a  school-house,  and  several  coffee 
houses  (at  least  they  bear  that  name),  and  one  ice  cream 
saloon. 

Hap-Hazard,  however,  was  called  a  very  moral  place. 
It  was  really  so,  in  comparison  with  many  others  on  the 
river,  yet  it  was  a  very  good  field  for  litigation,  and  the 
court  was  well  attended  by  lawyers,  and  the  jail  was 
scarcely  ever  tenantless. 

As  you  wend  your  way  up  from  the  river  bank  to  the 
center  of  the  town,  you  are  astonished  at  the  "  goodly 
prospect"  before  you;  the  beautiful  hills  and  dales,  covered 
with  the  richest  growth — groves  of  stupendous  beech  and 
maple,  stretching  themselves  in  primeval  beauty  ;  on  the 
right  and  on  the  left  lay  the  helter-skelter  village  ;  it  was 
planned,  no  doubt,  by  some  early  pioneer,  who  did  not 
understand  trigonometry.  The  sweet  little  cottages, 
seemed  as  if  they  had  not  been  built  there,  but  had  floated 
down  and  rested,  in  high  water,  on  the  hills  and  in  the  glens. 
Its  white  spires,  and  the  old,  long,  red  school-house,  gave 
it  a  very  romantic  and  classical  appearance. 

Peter  Larkins,  in  his  sojourns  westward,  had  selected 
this  little  place  as  the  theater  of  his  future  performances. 
He  reformed  in  it  ;  became  a  member  of  the  Temperance 
Society,  and  by  diligence  and  continued  sobriety,  became  a 
worthy  member  of  society.  With  the  genuine  sympathy  of 
an  intelligent  brotherhood,  he  succeeded,  by  degrees,  in 
making  a  very  respectable  living.  He  built  him  a  neat 
house,  planted  an  orchard,  and  had  everything  in  order  to 


322  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

receive  Susan.  And  never  did  a  bird  fly  to  its  nest  in  the 
willow  trunk,  with  lighter  wing,  and  more  tuneful  heart 
than  that  loving  wife  did  to  her  reformed  husband.  All 
old  scores  were  wiped  out  from  her  remembrance,  and  she 
thought  only  of  the  lover  of  her  youth,  and  the  father  of 
her  children. 

As  Mr.  Grimes  and  his  family  were  preparing  to  emi 
grate,  at  least  they  had  been  talking  and  planing  a  long 
time,  when  Peter's  letter  came,  they  unanimously  con 
cluded  that  it  would  be  better  to  go  together  ;  and  as  they 
had  no  particular  object  in  view,  but  a  new  country 
and  rich  land,  it  was  finally  agreed  that  Hap-Hazard  should 
be  their  future  destiny.  If  I  had  any  thought  that  my 
reader  would  be  interested  in  a  detail  of  the  many  inci 
dents  relative  to  emigrating,  and  the  circumstances  and  dis 
asters  upon  their  long  and  hazardous  journey,  I  would 
pause  to  dwell  upon  them  ;  but  it  is  not  the  point  of  my 
tale,  and  it  is  sufficient  to  say,  that  the  Grimes' 'family,  with 
Peter  Larkins'  wife  and  children,  bade  farewell  to  their 
old  homes,  their  mountain  scenes  and  wondering  friends, 
drew  up  their  stakes,  and  started  westward  to  the  new 
country  in  the  valley  of  the  Ohio.  Many  were  amazed  to 
think  of  people,  with  plenty  around  them,  going  such  a 
wild-goose  chase  into  the  backwoods,  leaving  such  a  nice 
home  in  a  cultivated  and  refined  country,  going  too  to  a 
free  state,  where  a  white-man  had  to  work  like  a  "  nigger," 
killing  his  own  pork,  and  hoeing  his  own  corn ;  they 
"  knowed  nobody  would  catch  them  at  that  game,"  still 
they  looked  long  and  sorrowfully  at  the  little  caravan,  as  it 
wound"  up  the  big  hill  on  its  western  exploration. 

The   emigrants   from   the   mountains  were   very  much 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  323 

pleased  with  their  adopted  country,  and  settled  down  to 
the  new  fangled  ways  and  manners  of  the  mixed  society  of 
the  village,  as  if  they  had  never  moved  in  a  different  orbit; 
they  were  happy  themselves,  and  tried  to  make  others  so. 
It  is  true,  the  people  did  not  talk  and  act  exactly  as  they 
did  in  old  "  Virginny,"  but  it  was  not  reasonable  to  sup 
pose  they  would,  and  even  if  they  did,  there  were  many 
things  in  the  western  customs,  much  more  desirable  than 
some  at  the  Key  settlement ;  "  anyhow,  it  seemed  more  in 
the  world,"  and  more  like  living.  Mrs.  Grimes  yielded,  in 
many  respects,  to  the  new  opinions  which  were  forced  upon 
her,  but  she  always  held  on  to  one  old  notion  :  "  After  all 
is  said  and  done,"  she  would  say,  "  the  old  Virginians  are 
the  most  hospitable  people  in  the  world,  that  is,  as  far  as 
my  knowledge  extends." 

The  village  of  Hap-Hazard,  by  some  fortuitous  event, 
became  also,  the  resting-place  of  Clarence  Duval.  They 
had  removed  to  Cincinnati,  much  against  the  will  of  Kate's 
friends,  but  she  was  steadfast  to  her  plans,  believing  firmly, 
that  her  husband  would  reform  under  different  circum 
stances.  They  would  leave  behind  his  associates,  who 
seemed  determined  to  nip  every  recuperative  bud,  by  their 
vile  temptations ;  that  in  a  new  land,  among  strangers,  he 
would  find  none  so  eager  to  press  to  his  lips  the  Circean 
cup,  whose  fatal  draught  brutalizes  its  victim.  With  such 
hopes,  she  left  home,  and  friends,  luxury,  and  ease,  to  fol 
low  the  dark  way  of  an  insane  husband. 

Yes,  insane  !  How  could  a  man,  in  the  full  possession 
of  his  mental  faculties,  act  so  contrary  to  his  interest  and 
the  happiness  of  his  family.  They  removed  to  Cincinnati. 
For  months,  Clarence  was  sober.  He  elicited  the  notice 


324  MBS.  BEN  DARBY. 

of  the  public  by  his  eloquent  speeches  before  the  jury — 
gained  the  patronage  necessary  to  establish  him  at  the  bar. 
He  was  doing  his  best  to  make  character  in  the  community, 
when  all  on  a  sudden  he  gave  way  to  his  besetting  tempta 
tion;  his  business  was  neglected,  and  the  court  terms  were 
selected  as  the  most  desirable  period  for  his  mammoth 
sprees.  He  was  often  carried  from  the  bar  too  drunk  even 
ta  preserve  order.  His  gifts  of  mind,  by  degrees,  rusted, 
as  all  bright  things  do,  if  not  used  and  carefully  rubbed 
up.  He  lost  his  tine  flow  of  language — his  happy  tropes 
and  figures;  that  elegant  combination  of  thought — the  sub 
limation  of  human  intellect.  His  love  for  the  beautiful — 
the  cultivation  of  art  and  science,  which  had  at  first  forced 
those  rare  scintillations  from  his  matchless  genius,  had 
no  longer  power  to  please.  Gloomy,  morose  and  wretched, 
he  silently  walked  from  his  office  on  Main  street,  to  his 
little  dwelling  on  the  roadside.  That  small  residence,  with 
its  broken  fence,  its  uncultivated  garden,  and  straggling 
rose-bushes,  spoke  for  itself  and  its  occupants  ;  but  no  one 
would  ever  have  dreamed  it  was  the  home  of  the  pure  and 
refined. 


MKS.  BEN  DARBY.  325 


Copter  32. 

Ah!  gentle  dames,  it  gars  me  greet, 
To  think  how  monie  counsels  sweet — 
How  monie  lengthened  sage  advices, 
The  husband  frae  the  wife  despises. — BDKNS. 

AMONG  the  various  societies  of  Hap-Hazard,  for  the 
benefit  and  amelioration  of  the  human  race,  was  the  "  La 
dies'  Union  Missionary  Sewing  Society."  It  congregated 
once  in  every  week,  at  different  houses,  suiting  itself  to  the 
convenience  of  its  numerous  members.  Its  officers  were 
active  and  efficient  in  their  operations  ;  that  is,  whenever 
they  could  settle  unanimously  on  a  subject.  The  great  feat  to 
perform  generally  was,  to  bring  them  into  that  desirable 
position,  for  every  one  had  their  opinion  (who  ever  knew 
a  woman  without  one  ?)  and  held  on  to  their  rights  with 
great  tenacity,  and  were  remarkable  for  carrying  their 
point  pour  et  contre,  as  the  case  might  be.  I  would  not 
convey  the  idea  that  the  ladies  of  Hap-Hazard  were  more 
difficult  to  concorporate  in  their  various  propositions,  than 
ladies  generally  are  ;  but  I  speak  of  it  as  a  general  thing ; 
and  the  ladies  of  the  Union  Missionary  Sewing  Society  of 
Hap-Hazard  were  not  an  exception  to  the  rule.  Women 
are  unionists  in  the  abstract — not  in  the  aggregate. 

The  first  lady  that  entered  the  society,  (it  met  at  Mrs. 
Grimes's),  was  a  pale-faced,  weakly  looking  creature,  with 
a  hectic  cheek.  She  was  dressed  simply,  and  looked  as  if 
she  had  not  yet  concluded  to  live  or  to  die.  She  had  been 
dying  ever  since  she  was  married,  but  some  how  or  other, 


320  MRS.  BKN  DARBY. 

she  made  out  to  get  along  on  the  highway  of  life  pretty  fast. 
She  had  breathed  on,  through  her  threatening  doom,  until 
she  was  thirty-five,  and  had  made  her  husband  the  envied 
father  of  nine  boys.  Mrs.  Grimes  said,  "  that  was  all  that 
kept  her  alive  !" 

Mrs.  Rosburn  came  in  before  Mrs.  Pinkton  had  taken 
off  her  things.  She  was  a  very  handsome  lady — very  lady 
like  and  affable  in  her  appearance  —  her  language  was  de 
cidedly  grammatical,  and  smacked  of  city  experience.  No 
one  found  fault  with  Mrs.  Rosburn's  manners  ;  yet  she  did 
not  seem  very  popular,  considering  she  had  so  many  ad 
vantages,  and  so  many  facilities  to  please.  She  seated  her 
self  in  the  big  rocking-chair,  and,  drawing  out  the  skirt  of 
her  black  silk  dress,  smiled  complacently,  as  much  as  to 
say,  I  am  not  quite  approachable  —  pray  don't  come  too 
close  !  There  was  something  in  her  that  could  not  be 
passed.  Mrs.  Grimes  said  "it  was  the  Eastern  streak,  and 
you  might  as  well  try  to  walk  over  the  Ohio,  as  to  get 
past  it !" 

Mrs.  Saul  Jenkins  was  the  president  of  the  society.  She 
was  one  of  your  good,  kind,  bustling  old  ladies,  with  a 
heart  as  large  as  a  millstone,  and  as  soft  as  a  sponge.  She 
could  cry  one  minute  at  the  sorrows  of  her  friends,  and  the 
next,  laugh  at  their  ridiculous  ways  ;  her  hand  was  open 
"as  day  to  melting  charity,"  and  whenever  anything  was 
concocted  for  the  benefit  of  the  poor  or  the  helpless,  Mrs. 
Jenkins  was  sure  to  be  there,  and  no  mistake.  To  her 
was  consigned,  by  mutual  consent,  the  management  of 
affairs. 

"Ladies,  I  declare  I  am  sorry  I  kept  you  waiting  so  long!" 
said  Mrs.  Saul  Jenkins,  bustling  into  the  room  where  the 


MRS.  BEN  DARIJY.  327 

ladies  had  already  commenced  ransacking  the  baskets  for 
unfinished  garments,  "but  our  clock  run  down,  for  a  won 
der,  for  it  keeps  monstrous  good  time,  and  that  put  me  a 
little  behindhand,  and  just  as  I  was  putting  on  my  bonnet 
to  start,  in  comes 'Sam  Jones  to  see  if  he  could  get  the  loan 
of  our  big  copper  kettle  to  make  apple  butter.  I  went  into 
the  smoke-house  to  get  it,  and  lo  !  and  behold  !  Sally  had 
left  the  hickory  dye  in  it  ever  since  I  colored  the  warp  for 
my  rag  carpet  !  It  took  me  a  full  half  hour  to  brighten  it, 
and  don't  you  think,  after  all,  it  was  too  little  ! " 

"It  is  morally  impossible,  Mrs.  Jenkins,"  said  Mrs. 
Pinkton,  "to  expect  a  girl  to  keep  things  tidy.  If  you 
believe  me,  the  last  time  I  was  at  the  Society,  that  great 
gump  of  a  girl  of  ours  burnt  up  an  oven  of  bread  as  black 
as  a  coal,  and  the  cow  got  into  the  back  shed  and  eat  up 
a  barrel  of  potatoes  and  turned  over  a  churn  of  soft- 
soap." 

"  La,  me  !  that  would  have  bought  truck  enough  to  make 
two  or  three  shirts  for  the  heathens,"  said  Miss  Fobes,  an 
old  lady  who  tried  to  appear  very  youthful ;  "I  do  declare, 
what  a  pity !" 

"  Yes,  I  guess  it  was  a  pity,  and  Mr.  Pinkton  said 
charity  began  at  home,  and  that  I  had  better  let  the  Sew 
ing  Society  sweat  and  stay  at  home  and  keep  things 
posted.  Men  are  so  unreasonable,  Mrs.  Grimes,  don't  you 
know  it?" 

"  Indeed,  not  I,"  replied  the  lady  addressed;  "  they  like 
to  see  things  snug  at  home,  in  doors  and  out.  I  would  not 
give  a  pinch  of  snuff  for  one  of  your  poke-easy  sort,  that 
comes  and  goes,  like  a  domestic  critter,  to  get  his  grub,  and 


328  MBS.  BEN  DARBY. 

never  knows  whether  his  wife  or  the  kitchen-girl  makes 
his  tea." 

"  I  would  prefer  such  a  man,"  said  Miss  Fobes,  "  to  one 
like  Mr.  Sharpe ;  he  is  a  real  cot-Betty,  poking  his  nose 
into  every  hole  and  corner  on  the  premises.  Mrs.  Sharpe 
never  sees  a  quiet  moment.  She  can't  lend  a  neighbor  a 
making  of  tea,  but  he  is  consulted,  or  give  away  an  old 
petticoat  but  what  he  must  survey  it  from  top  to  bottom  to 
see  if  it  is  givable." 

"Well,  I  declare!"  cried  Mrs.  Lawson,  a  pretty  little 
woman  with  very  black  eyes  and  white  teeth  ;  "  if  a  man 
was  to  fool  about  ray  concerns  in  that  kind  of  style,  he  would 
be  very  apt  to  catch  it.  I  despise  to  see  them  mixing  up 
messes  or  meddling  in  any  way  with  house  concerns.  In 
Ken  tuck  they  are  raised  to  know  better." 

"  Indeed,  I  think  it  is  as  much  their  duty  to  see  to  things 
as  the  wife's,"  said  Mrs.  Rosburn  ;  "  the  New  England  men 
make  the  best  husbands  in  the  world  ;  they  are  so  handy — 
especially  with  cows  and  butter." 

"  Well,  well !  I  had  rather  see  a  bear-fight  than  to  see  a 
man  churning.  La!  Mrs.  Rosburn!  I  hope  you  don't  use 
your  husband  for  that  purpose  ?"  said  Miss  Fobes,  laying 
her  work  down  on  her  lap  and  laughing  heartily. 

"  Dr.  Rosburn  never  does  anything  beneath  the  dignity 
of  a  gentleman,"  replied  his  lady  drawing  herself  up  very 
proudly. 

"  Never  let  him  churn  then,"  added  Miss  Fobes. 

"  How  mistaken  you  are,  Miss  Fobes !"  said  Mrs.  Over- 
ton,  playfully;  "I  think  it  the  pleasantest  thing  in  the 
world  to  have  Henry  pottering  round  the  house  and  kitchen 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  329 

with  me,  helping  me  to  peel  apples  or  string  beans,  or  rock 
one  side  of  the  cradle  while  I  rock  the  other." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Miss  Fobes,  sarcastically;  "I  would 
not  object  to  the  latter  employment  as  it  must  be  so  very 
profitable !" 

"I  am  like  Mrs.  Overton,"  said  Mrs.  Grimes,  looking 
benignly  over  her  spectacles;  "I  like  the  men  folks,  and  I 
will  own  up  to  it,  and  I  believe  there  is  only  one  in  ten  but 
what  would  do  right  if  his  wife  would  only  let  him." 

"Oh!  Mrs.  Grimes!"  cried  Mrs.  Pinkton. 

"  It  is  a  fact — I  know  it,"  said  the  old  lady. 

"  I  am  never  happy  without  my  husband  is  at  home," 
said  Mrs.  Judge  Wilford;  "  although  I  have  been  married 
twenty-five  years,  and  have  lived  half  that  time  alone,  for 
he  is  always  nearly  on  the  circuit." 

"  La !  Mrs.  Wilford !  I  would  not  be  tied  to  any  one  that 
way,"  cried  Miss  Fobes. 

"  Nor  I,"  said  Mrs.  Pinkton. 

"Where  is  Mrs.  Larkins?"  asked  the  lady  president; 
"  she  does  not  attend  very  regularly." 

"  Susy  has  her  hands  full  at  home,  I  guess,"  replied 
Mrs.  Grimes;  "she  han't  no  notion  leaving  unless  every 
thing  is  just  so.  She  never  neglects  home — she  had  rather 
pay  the  fine.  All  who  are  engaged  in  this  good  cause 
ought  to  double  diligence  at  home — never  curtail  domestic 
comfort ;  for  when  a  man  comes  home  and  finds  his  wife 
gone  he  is  very  apt  to  conceit  half  his  comfort  is  gone,  but 
if  he  is  put  off  with  a  half-cooked  supper  and  a  dirty  table 
cloth,  and  the  young  ones  cutting  up,  he  falls  out  of  humor 
with  himself  and  everybody  else.  I  never  knew  a  hungry 
28 


330  MKS.  BEN  DARBY. 

man,"under  such  circumstances,  anything  but  ill-disposed 
some  way;  such  times  I  feel  for  them." 

"Oh!  yes!  they  are  lords  of  creation,  and  ought  to  be 
attended  to  above  all  things.  Now  I  think,  a  woman  has 
her  rights,  or  should  have  them,"  said  Miss  Fobes. 

"That  is  well  put  in,  Miss  Eliza,"  cried  Mrs.  Tucker; 
"  for  my  part,  I  think  they  are  very  little  but  slaves — worse 
than  some  slaves  I  know.  I  can't  see  that  they  have  any 
rights  at  all." 

"All  a  mistake,  Mrs.  Tucker,"  replied  a  little  pale-faced 
lady  in  a  green  tissue  with  a  pink  neck-ribbon  and  a  cameo 
breastpin  as  large  as  a  door-knob  ;  "she  has  a  right  to  stay 
at  home  and  have  a  baby  every  fifteen  months  ;  to  make 
pies  and  corn  dodgers — that  is,  if  she  can  get  the  where 
withal  to  make  them ;  then  she  has  a  right  to  work,  to 
patch  her  husband's  pants  ;  to  sew  on  his  everlasting  but 
tons  ;  to  set  up  every  night  with  a  sick  child,  until  he  comes 
home  from  the  Odd  Fellows'  Hall,  or  the  temperance 
meeting;  or  if  it  is  election  times,  you  have  a  right  to  stay 
home  and  get  up  big  dinners,  while  he  takes  care  of  the 
president's  business  and  comes  in  at  meal  times,  with  a 
regiment  of  Hoosier  gangers  to  muss  up  the  house  and  spit 
on  your  clean  carpets — but  you  can't  vote.  No !  a  woman 
can't  vote." 

"Nor  figure  in  the  Senate,"  said  Miss  Fobes. 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Grimes;  "  God  has  given  her  a  diffe 
rent  place.  Adam  was  made  first,  and  all  creation  was  put 
under  his  administration — woman's  place  is  by  his  side  to 
assist  and  comfort,  honor  and  obey." 

"Some  husbands,"   said  Mrs.  Pinkton,  looking  indig- 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  331 

nantly,  "  could  not  be  honored  even  if  they  were  obeyed — 
such  poor,  pusillanimous " 

"When  I  say  man,"  said  Mrs.  Grimes,  "I  mean  man, 
and  not  individual  brutes." 

"  I  like  the  men  very  well  in  their  proper  places,  and  in 
season,"  said  Mrs.  Pinkton. 

"  That  is  to  say,  when  you  want  money,"  said  Miss 
Fobes  ;  "or  to  take  a  trip  to  the  'Falls,'  or  to  New  York 
city,  or  sit  up  with  the  sick  baby  or  in  case  of  a  thunder 
storm.  Mrs.  Jenkins,  must  I  put  sleeves  in  this  apron  ?" 

"  Just  as  you  please,  dear." 

"  How  do  you  like  our  new  preacher,  Mrs.  Rosburn  ?" 
asked  Mrs.  Paine. 

"  I  have  never  heard  him." 

"  Never  heard  him  !  how  you  talk." 

"  I  attend  Mr.  Gray's  church." 

"Ah!  indeed!" 

"Mr.  Gray  is  from  the  east,  is  he  not?"  asked  Mrs. 
Paine. 

"Yes  indeed!"  replied  Mrs.  Rosburn,  "you  can  tell 
that  as  soon  as  he  rises  in  the  pulpit — he  is  very  graceful." 

"Well,  that's  the  main  thing,"  said  Mrs.  Saul  Jenkins; 
"  if  he  only  has  his  heart  full  of  grace,  that  is  the  best 
gift  he  can  possess." 

"  I  heard  some  one  say  he  was  an  Odd  Fellow,"  said 
Mrs.  Tucker. 

"  If  there  is  anything  odd  about  him,  I  never  noticed 
it,"  replied  Mrs.  Jenkins. 

"  The  Order  of  Odd  Fellows,  I  mean,  Mrs.  Jenkins." 

"  Preachers  have  no  business  in  such  conclaves,"  said 
Mrs.  Tucker. 


332  MRS.  BEN  DABBY. 

"Why,  it  is  a  very  good  institution,"  said  Mrs.  Paine, 
"  and  I  can't  see  why  preachers  may  not  reap  its  benefits." 

"Benefits!  la!  Mrs.  Paine,"  said  Mrs.  Pinkton,  "do 
you  let  Mr.  Paine  pull  the  wool  over  your  eyes  that  way. 
I  know  very  well,  if  there  was  anything  so  very  good  in  it 
they  would  not  cover  it  up  so  closely." 

"  They  do  a  great  deal  of  good,  I  know,"  replied  Mrs. 
Paine,  tartly,  and  her  eyes  snapped  like  a  wild  cat's.  "Look 
at  the  widow  McKenis — what  would  she  have  done  if  it 
had  not  been  for  the  Odd  Fellows — all  the  time  he  was 
sick,  they  kept  him,  and  paid  his  doctor  bills,  and  buried 
him — and  only  see  now  how  genteel  the  girls  look,  and 
Walter  is  going  to  college — now  don't  tell  me  they  are  not 
doing  good." 

"  Dear  me,  Mrs.  Paine,  you  need  not  flare  up  that  way;  I 
mean  that  a  man  has  no  business  with  secrets — he  ought  not 
to  know  anything  but  what  his  wife  does,"  said  Mrs.  Pinkton. 

"Then  some  of  them  would  know  very  little,"  whispered 
Mrs.  Berryman,  a  lady  with  a  bright  sunny  look,  and  a 
dimple  in  her  cheek.  "Please  hand  me  that  gusset,  Mrs. 
Smith." 

"  What !  put  gussets  in  a  sack  ?" 

"Why  not?" 

"  Oh,  it  is  useless — they  will  not  know  the  difference 
in  Ohati." 

They  both  laughed  heartily  at  poor  little  Mrs.  Pinkton, 
but  the  simple  soul  thought  they  were  laughing  at  the 
South  Sea  Islanders. 

"  Oh !  wad  some  pow'r  the  giftie  gie  us 
To  see  oursel's  as  ithers  see  us, 
It  wad  frae  monie  a  blunder  free  us, 
An'  foolish  notion." 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  333 

But  there  was  no  such  talisman  vouchsafed  to  Mrs.  Pink- 
ton — so  she  was  often  found  shooting  her  arrows  in  the 
dark — sometimes  they  rebounded. 

Mrs.  Smith  took  her  work,  and  went  over  to  the  window, 
where  Mrs.  Pinkton  was  cutting  out  aprons  for  the  coming 
generation.  She  seated  herself,  and  sewing  rapidly  with 
out  raising  her  eyes,  said,  "  Mrs.  Pinkton,  was  Mrs.  Berry- 
man  laughing  at  you  ?" 

"  No — why  should  she  ?" 

"  Yes  she  was  !" 

"  Is  my  collar  on  straight  ?" 

"  Yes — it  is  very  becoming." 

"  Oh,  well !  it  could  not  have  been  me  she  was  quiz 
zing." 

"  She  was  though,"  answered  Mrs.  Smith,  "  she  has  a 
fashion  of  making  jests — these  western  people  all  do  it 
and  we  never  get  thanked  for  trying  to  refine  them — they 
are  so  rude  and  so  uncouth.  I  wonder  if  Indiana  will  ever 
be  civilized,"  continued  Mrs.  Smith,  raising  her  voice  for 
the  benefit  of  her  listeners. 

"After  a  while — I  hope  it  will,  at  least,"  said  Mrs.  Ros- 
burn,  "  there  are  a  great  many  eastern  folks  coming  out — 
indeed  there  is  a  great  change  since  I  came." 

"  When  I  came  out,"  said  Mrs.  Smith,  "  I  did  not  think 
I  could  stand  it  a  week  longer — we  could  not  get  anything 
we  wanted — and  the  houses  are  put  up  like  barns,  and  with 
so  little  judgment — no  pantries,  no  dressing  closets — the 
poorest  dwelling  in  New  England  is  better  fixed." 

"After  all,  however,"  said  Mrs.  Berryman,  triumphantly, 
"  Indiana  is  the  fifth  State  in  the  Union." 

"  Gracious  !  I  don't  see  how  that  can  be,"  cried  Mrs. 


334  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

Pinkton,  "it  ain't  the  fifth,  in  my  opinion,  by  a  dozen — I 
never  shall  be  able  to  enjoy  myself  here." 

"Why  don't  you  go  back?"  said  Mrs.  Berryman,  "no 
use  suffering  here,  when  you  could  be  so  happy  at  your 
old  home." 

"Well,  Mr.  Pinkton  gets  a  fine  practice  here — the  place 
is  well  calculated  for  his  business — we  came  out  to  make 
money. 

"He  skins  the  Hoosiers,  and  you  abuse  them — that  is 
not  fair,"  said  Mrs.  Berryman  laughing. 

"No,"  cried  Mrs  Jenkins,  "you  must  not  drink  the 
milk  and  kick  the  can — it  ain't  good  policy." 

"When  we  first  came  out  here,"  said  Mrs.  Smith,  "I 
went  over  one  day  to  Timothy  Strong's  carpenter  shop,  and 
asked  him  if  he  had  any  ready-made  paste-boards;  says  he, 
'  Ready-made — I  don't  know  what  you  mean.'  " 

"  '  Have  you  any  paste-boards  ?'  said  I.  " 

" '  No  madam — we  never  deal  in  the  article — you  can 
find  lots  of  them  at  Miss  Dickens's  milliner  shop.'  ' 

"  He  thought  you  meant  bonnet  boards." 

"  Precisely  so." 

"He  was  quizzing  you,"  said  Mrs.  Berryman,  "you 
know  we  Hoosiers  can  do  that." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,  madam ! — he  did  not  know  any  better — 
but  see,  I  have  sewed  this  seam  up,  wrong  side  upward — 
what  a  pity — I  thank  you  for  the  scissors,  Mrs.  Paine." 

"Mrs.  Smith,  that  was  not  as  bad  as  the  mistake  between 
Patsy  Fields  and  myself.  She  came  over  to  our  house 
one  morning,  I  was  busy  knitting,  '  Mrs.  Pinkton,'  said 
she,  '  won't  you  be  pleased  to  loan  mother  a  spider,  a  little 
one  will  do,  so  its  legs  ain't  off.'  'No  Patsy,'  says  I,  'what 


MRS.  BEN  DABBY.  335 

under  the  sun  does  your  mother  want  with  a  spider  ?'  " 
'  It  is  a  very  queer  notion,  Mrs.  Pinkton,  I  know,  but  sick 
folks  will  have  strange  idees — all  at  once,  mother  took  a 
fancy  to  biscuit,  and  she  says  -she  must  have  spider 
biscuits.' " 

"  '  Laws  me  !  what  a  notion — it's  enough  to  kill  her,' 
says  I.  '  No,'  said  Patsy,  '  the  doctor  said  she  might 
have  them,  provided  we  did  not  make  them  too  rich.'  " 

"'And  how  do  you  make  them,  Patsy  ?'  said  I." 

"  '  Just  like  other  biscuits,'  said  Patsy.  '  After  you 
work  them  well,  you  roll  them  out  and  cut  them,  and  lay 
them  on  the  board,  and  then  they  are  ready  for  the  spider.' 
'Marcy!  child,' said  I,  'you  will  make  me  cascade;  go 
along,  I  have  no  spiders,  and  if  I  had,  I  could  not  bear  to 
handle  them.'  So  home  she  went,  and  we  have  never 
been  friends  since.  She  said  I  was  the  proudest  and  the 
stingiest  lady  in  Hap-Hazard.  She  knew  I  had  three  spi 
ders — big,  fine  ones  ;  she  saw  them  turned  up  under  the 
dresser." 

"  Talking  of  doctors,"  said  Mrs.  Lawson,  "  puts  me  in 
mind  of  Jane  Groves.  They  say  she  is  going  to  be  mar 
ried  to  Dr.  Carrington." 

"  You  don't  tell  me  ?"  said  Mrs.  Jenkins. 

"  Yes,  and  they  say  Tom  Carrington  is  sitting  to  Kitty 
Sparks,  and  I  should  not  wonder  if  it  was  true.  He- wears 
one  of  Kitty's  rings  ;  Sally  Allen  said  she  saw  it,  and 
would  be  qualified  that  it  was  hers." 

"  That  will  raise  Mrs.  Sparks  a  foot,"  said  Miss  Fobes, 
"getting  into  such  a  big  set." 

"  Sally  marrying  Eli  Sands  will  balance  accounts,"  said 
Mrs.  Smith,  spitefully.  "  He  ran  off  to  California,  and  left 


336  MBS.  BEN  DARBY. 

her  without  a  dime,  and  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  Odd 
Fellows,  at  New  Albany,  she  never  could  have  reached 
home ;  but  he  died  on  the  route,  and  the  Order  made  up 
money  to  send  Mrs.  Sands  home." 

"And  they  tell  me  that  Nathan  Peck  is  going  to  take 
another  wife." 

"  La,  me  !  Mrs.  Jenkins,  and  his  wife  ain't  been  dead 
three  months,"  said  Miss  Fobes. 

"  Yes,  'Liza,  I  guess  its  four." 

"  No,  Mrs.  Jenkins,"  cried  Mrs.  Lawson,  "its  only  three ; 
when  was  election  ?" 

"  The  first  Monday  in  August." 

"Well,  his  wife  died  the  day  after." 

"I  know  it  is  four  months,"  said  Mrs.  Lawson,  "  for  it 
was  the  very  day  my  Alice  Olivia  was  born,  and  she  is  four 
months  old  to-day." 

"Oh  !  I  give  it  up,"  said  Miss  Fobes,  "your  almanac 
is  correct  data.  Dear  me  !  we  must  sew  faster,  or  we  shall 
not  get  through  this  pile  of  steam  loom." 


MRS.  BEN  DAHur.  337 


r  33. 

"  There's  some  exception  man  an'  woman, 
But  this  is  gentry  life  in  common." 

THERE  was  a  little  interruption  in  the  conversation  of  the 
ladies  of  the  Union  Missionary  Sewing  Society,  occasioned 
by  the  entrance  of  a  member.  She  came  in  panting  and 
rolling*up  her  large  blue  eyes,  as  if  she  had  been  driven  in 
by  a  clap  of  thunder,  and  threw  herself,  apparently  ex 
hausted,  on  the  first  seat  which  presented  itself,  and  begged 
some  of  the  ladies  to  give  her  a  glass  of  water.  She  was 
a  very  fine  looking  woman,  as  Mrs.  Jenkins  said,  if  she 
would  only  let  herself  be,  but  she  put  on  so  many  airs  and 
outlandish  ways,  and  claimed  so  many  attentions,  that  there 
was  nothing  of  herself  left.  She  was  quite  tall,  her  fore 
head  high  and  expansive,  for  a  woman's  to  be,  but  Mrs. 
Stella  White  Rumsey  thought  she  had  as  good  a  right  to 
use  certain  fine  sharp-edged  instruments  as  the  other  sex, 
and  there  was  no  reason  she  could  not  have  as  intellectual 
a  forehead  as  any  one  else.  So  she  shaved  it  up  in  front, 
to  suit  her  ideas  of  a  model  brow. 

She  was  a  poetess,  and  had  written  many  communications 
over  the  signature  of  "  Stella  Sebella."  She  occupied 
the  poet's  corner  in  the  Hap-Hazard  Telegraph.  She  was  a 
harmless  member  of  the  Society.  It  is  true,  she  did  very 
little  toward  its  advancement.  She  was  ever  so  completely 

wrapped  up  in  her  own  wild  cogitations,  that  the  gossip 
29 


338  MRS.  BEN  DAKBX\ 

flew  by  her  "  like  the  idle  wind,  which  she  regarded  not." 
Whenever  her  vote  was  needed,  or  her  opinion  desired, 
(which  the  ladies  sometimes  did  her  the  compliment  to 
crave)  her  thoughts  had  gone  forth  into  the  interminable 
fields  of  imagination.  Sometimes  she  was  seated  in  a 
"bower  of  roses  by  Bendemer's  stream,"  or  in 


-A  gorgeous  hall 


Lighted  far  up  for  festival; 

Braided  tresses  and  cheeks  of  bloom, 

Diamond  agaff,  and  milk-white  plume ; 

Censers  of  roses,  vases  light, 

Like  what  the  moon  sheds  on  a  summer's  night — 

Youths  and  maidens  with  linked  hands 

Joined  in  the  graceful  sarabands," 

or  roaming  through  Eden  with  Milton  or  with  the  lovely 
young  Lavinia,  gleaning  Palaemon's  fields  or  lingering  in 
the  fertility  of  her  own  poetical  vision. 

After  recovering  her  composure,  she  begged  the  ladies 
to  excuse  her  late  arrival.  She  said  she  had  become  so  in 
tensely  engrossed  in  her  book,  that  she  was  perfectly  un 
conscious  of  the  rapidity  of  time.  Before  she  was  aware 
of  it,  she  found  herself  wandering  with  Bryant  in  his  au 
tumnal  woods. 

"  Where  the  gay  company  of  trees  look  down 
On  the  green  fields  below." 

"  Ain't  she  brazen  ?"  whispered  Mrs.  Jenkins  to  Mrs. 
Smith.  "  I'd  be  ashamed  to  tell  it — tramping  through  the 
commons  with  a  man — a  married  man,  too.  It  ain't  fair — 
if  I  was  Mrs.  Bryant,  I'd  hoist  her,  certain." 

"  She  means  the  poet,"  said  Mrs.  Smith. 

"  It  matters  not  what  he  is  ;  he  is  no  great  shakes,  or  he 
would  not  be  leading  another  man's  wife  astray." 


MKS.  BEN  DARJJF.  339 

Mrs.  Smith  put  her  foot  on  Mrs.  Jenkins's  toe  ;  Mrs. 
Lawson  looked  at  Mrs.  Paine,  and  smiled  knowingly. 

Mrs.  Stella  White  Rumsey  fanned  herself,  declaring  she 
was  nearly  expiring  with  heat — that  she  was  quite  fagged 
out ;  for  the  last  week  she  had  been  dragged  from  pillar  to 
post,  in  her  late  visit  to  Cincinnati.  She  declared  folks  had 
no  mercy — no  feeling. 

"  That  is  the  natural  consequence  of  being  a  lioness,"  said 
Mrs.  Berryman,  with  a  wicked  twinkle  of  her  eye.  "  If 
you  will  dance,  you  must  pay  the  piper." 

"How  do  you  think  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe  stands  it? 
Did  you  ever  read  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin?" 

"Never,"  said  Mrs.  Rumsey;  "I  am  very  sure  nothing 
could  be  interesting  where  the  hero  is  a  great  double-jointed 
negro." 

"  But  it  is  interesting,"  said  Mrs.  Lawson  ;  "  I  know  it 
don't  pretend  to  be  a  history  of  the  great  and  the  refined ; 
it  was  written  to  do  good  ;  I  could  not  put  it  down  after  I 
took  it  up  until  I  got  through.  When  Lotty  Jane  got  hold 
of  it,  I  thought  in  my  soul  she  would  have  growed  to  the 
chair  ;  says  I,  'Lotty,  come  to  supper  ?'  'Oh  !  mother,'  she 
says,  '  I  can't  eat  while  Eliza  is  walking  over  the  river  with 
her  boy ;'  and  how  the  poor  thing  cried  when  that  monster 
had  poor,  dear,  old  Uncle  Tom  flogged." 

"  La!  Miss  Lawson,  I  thought  you  Kantuck  folks  believed 
in  flogging  ?" 

"  Not  that  kind,  and  under  such  circumstances,  such  a 
faithful  creature.  Ought  I  to  put  a  ruffle  on  this  sleeve, 
Miss  Jenkins  ?" 

"  If  you  have  bits  enough  left,  you  had  as  well 'set  it  off 


340  MKS.  BEN  DARBY. 

a  little  ;  it  will  give  it  a  finished  look.     Did  you  say  Pris- 
cella  Vaugh  was  a  medium  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  did  that  very  thing." 

"  She  denies  it,  and  says  she  never  had  communication 
with  a  spirit  in  her  life." 

"  I  said  she  was  a  medium  for  tattlers  ;  as  to  the  spirits, 
Mrs.  Lawson,  all  I  have  to  say  is,  there  are  more  kinds 
than  one." 

"Do  you  believe  in  the  rappers  ?" 

"  I  cannot  say  I  do ;  but  there  is  something  mighty 
strange  in  it." 

"Were  you  ever  at  Mrs.  Baker's,  to  see  the  medium 
from  Cincinnati  ?" 

"  'Shaw,"  said  Miss  Fobes,  "it  is  all  humbug,  and  if  it  was 
a  fact  that  were  done,  it  is  witchcraf,  and  as  such  I  eschew  it." 

"  It  is  very  queer — you  will  allow  that,  Miss  Fobes.  You 
know  Tilman  Burns  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,  everybody  knows  Tilman." 

"  Well,  Tilman  Burns  came  over  to  our  house ;  we  were 
peeling  peaches  to  dry,  and  were  sitting  in  the  back  porch. 
Jane  Shaw  was  there  ;  she  was  sitting  between  Lotty  Jane 
and  William  Henry,  and  she  threw  a  peach  and  hit  Til. 
plump  in  the  mouth  ;  with  that  they  commenced  romping  ; 
they  turned  over  a  tub  of  peaches;  broke  a  five  gallon  crock 
filled  with  nice  clings,  all  cut  and  stoned,  ready  for  the  kiln; 
poor  Jane  got  her  foot  very  badly  cut,  and  Tilman  streaked 
it  for  the  Doctor;  and  when  he  found  him  he  was  at  Mrs. 
Baker's,  and  he  says,  that  when  he  went  in,  the  little  table 
that  always  sets  by  the  cupboard  was  following  the  girl 
round  the  room !" 


MKS.  BEN  DARBV.  341 

"Mrs.  Lawson,  that  is  some  of  Tilman's  yarns." 

"  He  says  he  saw  it." 

"  Does  the  Doctor  believe  in  it  ?" 

"  In  course  he  does  ;  he  has  had  communication  with 
several  spirits." 

"  Some  of  his  departed  patients  ?"  says  Mrs.  Berryman. 

"  Has  he  quit  drinking?"  asked  Mrs.  Tucker. 

"  Yes,  I  believe  so." 

"  It  has  come  to  him  lately,  then,"  said  Pinkton. 

"Ever  since  his  shop  burned  down;  you  know  every 
body  said  that  he  set  it  on  fire  himself,  with  mixing  up  his 
trucks,  when  he  was  tight." 

"  Mrs.  Tucker,  I  would  not  live  with  a  drunkard  ;  it  is 
dangerous.  Now,  there  is  Mrs.  Williams,  she  can't  be  per 
suaded  to  leave  her  husband  ;  she  loves  him  in  spite  of 
everything." 

"  It  is  a  mystery  to  me,  and  always  has  been,  how  a 
woman  can  love  a  drunkard  ;  living  with  him  is  another 
affair.  If  Mr.  Pinkton  drank  I  might  live  with  him  ;  but  I 
tell  you  he  would  have  a  hot  house." 

"  If  my  husband  was  an  inebriate,  said  Mrs.  Stella  White 
Rumsey,  I  should  pity  him,  and  '  pity  swells  the  tide  of 
love  ;'  I  could  not  forsake  him,  and  leave  him  to  the 'con 
tumely  of  the  world  !  oh,  no, 

'  Ties  around  this  heart  arc  spun, 
Which  cannot,  will  not,  be  undone.'  " 

"  Some  men  can't  help  it,"  said  Mrs.  Grimes,  "that  is,  if 
they  give  themselves  up  to  it  at  first,  it  becomes  a  chronic 
disease,  and  needs  a  physician  and  a  remedy  as  much  as 
the  liver  complaint  or  cholera  ;  they  ought  to  be  taken  care 
of  and  treated  like  patients." 


342  MRS.  BEN  DAKBT. 

"  It  pains  me  to  see  that  poor  young  creature,  who  lives 
in  Mrs.  Parson's  old  house,"  said  Mrs.  Rosburn;  "they 
say  she  is  suffering." 

"Suffering,  and  we  working  for  the  Hottentot!"  cried 
Mrs.  Grimes  ;  "  we  are  not  half  doing  our  duty." 

"  Her  husband  comes  home  drunk  every  two  or  three 
days  ;  sometimes  he  is  very  boisterous,"  said  Mrs.  Smith. 

"  She  is  lovely,"  said  Mrs.  Rumsey,  "  very  lovely;  I  saw 
her  in  Cincinnati." 

"  Where  do  they  hail  from  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Jenkins. 

"  New  York  city." 

"  Some  poor,  broken  scamp,  come  out  here  to  recruit," 
said  Mrs.  Berryman;  "  in  a  year  from  now  he  will  be  on  stilts, 
looking  down  on  the  whole  community;  that  is  the  way  the 
Eastern  people  do  ;  they  come  here  from  Lowell,  or  the 
Bowery,  in  New  York,  with  nothing  but  assurance ;  with 
that  raw  material  they  work  themselves  into  office;  then 
they  get  the  '  big  head.'  " 

"  Yes,  the  Lowell  girls  come  out  as  missionaries  of 
science,  to  illuminate  with  radiance  these  chaotic  regions, 
where  the  sun  of  knowledge  has  never  yet  risen,"  said  Mrs. 
Rumsey. 

"  It  is  best  not  to  answer  that,"  whispered  Mrs.  Ber 
ryman. 

"  I  don't  take  that,  Mrs.  Rumsey;  I  am  a  New  Eng- 
lander,"  said  Mrs.  Roseman  ;  "  but  I  despise  allusions." 

Mrs.  Jenkins  declared  that  the  sun  was  down,  and  it  was 
time  to  adjourn.  The  ladies  themselves  began  to  imagine 
that  domestic  affairs  needed  some  little  attention  ;  so  they 
folded  up  the  garments  they  had  finished,  packed  away  the 
remnants  for  future  consideration ;  then,  gathering  bonnets 


MRS.  BEN  DABBY.  343 

and  shawls,  sacks  and  mantillas,  they  went  through  the 
parting  scenes  as  usual  ;  and  as  some  of  my  readers  have 
never  been  so  fortunate  as  to  partake  of  the  hospitalities  of 
the  West,  I  will  proceed  with  my  delineation. 

"  Mrs.  Grimes,  I  wish  you  good  morning,"  said  Mrs. 
Rossman,  bowing  herself  gracefully  ;  "  I  shall  be  happy  to 
have  you  call." 

"  The  sight  of  you,  Mrs.  Grimes,  on  Cross  street, 
would  be  good  for  sore  eyes,"  said  Mrs.  Lawson. 

"  Well,  I'll  try  and  come  before  long.  Don't  wait  for 
me." 

"  Now  see  that  you  do  !" 

"  Mrs.  Lawson,  I  hope  you  have  not  forgotten  the  way 
to  our  house  !" 

"  Not  by  a  long  ways,  Jane.  I  had  a  half  a  mind  to 
go  down  on  Friday,  but  it  rained  powerfully  before  I  could 
start." 

"  Why  don't  you  never  come  up  Mrs.  Berryman?" 

"  I  have  been  six  times  to  your  once  !" 

"All  but  that !  I  know  very  well  I  was  at  your  house 
last  !  Don't  you  recollect  the  day  Jemima  got  her  foot 
scalded  ?" 

"  Oh  !  yes,  very  true  ;  well,  come  again — don't  be  cere 
monious." 

"  Mrs.  Pinkton,  I  think  you  make  yourself  very 
scace!"  said  Mrs.  Jenkins,  as  she  tied  on  her  bonnet. 

"  I  have  been  staying  with  Sally  Ann.  You  know  Sally 
Ann  has  a  pair  of  beautiful  twins  ?" 

"  No  !  has  she  ?" 

"  Yes,  and  boys  at  that !" 

"  Did  you  ever  !" 


344  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

"  Mrs.  Berryraan,  how  do  you  like  Mrs.  Rumsey's  way 
of  trimming  the  forehead  ?"  whispered  Mrs.  Smyth;  "does 
it  not  look  classical  ?" 

"  Take  away  the  c-1,  and  you  will  have  it  exactly,"  re 
plied  Mrs.  Berryman,  laughing,  and  throwing  on  her  man 
tilla  ;  it  takes  a  heap  of  people  to  make  a  world,  Mrs. 
Smyth  1" 

"It  does  that!" 


MRS.  BEN  DAKBY.  345 


Loveliest  of  lovely  things  are  they 
On  earth,  that  soonest  pass  away ; 
The  rose,  that  lives  its  little  hour, 
Is  prized  beyond  the  sculptured  flower. — BRYANT. 

IT  was  Indian  summer  ;  everything  was  beautiful  and 
quiet.  The  air  was  soft  and  rich  with  autumnal  fragrance. 
Nature  was  trying  to  recover  her  June  looks  ;  but  Time's 
treacherous  finger  had  touched  every  leaf  and  flower ; 
decay  was  doing  its  work  in  the  germ  and  in  the  sap.  The 
colors  were  bronzed  and  crimsoned  by  the  heat;  crisped 
by  the  early  frosts.  Beauty  still  haunted  the  forest-hills, 
and  lingered  on  the  banks  of  La  Belle  Riviere.  Wreaths 
of  mist  gathered  about  the  horizon,  and  covered  the  sun, 
as  if  with  a  retecious  vail.  Threads  of  gossamer  were 
linked  from  leaf  to  leaf  of  the  ash  trees  and  the  birch, 
floating  like  silver  tissue  in  the  light  breeze  from  the  lazy 
limbs  of  the  weeping  willow.  There  was  music  in  the 
woods — the  choral  of  the  summer  birds — lingering  about 
their  old  haunts,  awaiting  the  northern  winds,  to  depart  to 
new  homes — the  melody  was  so  memorative,  so  sweet,  yet 
so  very  sad.  The  flowers  were  almost  cheated  by  appear 
ances,  and  were  half  inclined  to  peep  out  and  try  the  reali 
ties  of  the  season. 

It  was  the  period  of  rest,  inertness,  and  reminiscences ; 
and  as  Kate  Duval  sat  at  her  cottage  door,  under  the  mul- 


346  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

berry  tree,  that  threw  its  shade  over  her  humble  resting- 
place — resting  place  !  No  !  she  was  like  the  dove  of  the 
ark — the  waters  abroad  were  too  turbulent  and  deep.  She 
found  no  spot  for  the  sole  of  her  foot ;  she  fled  to  the  mov 
ing  ark.  So  Kate's  thoughts  were  fixed  on  the  ark  of  the 
covenant — the  pavilion  of  God's  love ;  the  rest  prepared 
for  the  sorrowful  and  despised  of  earth, 

"  Oh !  who  could  bear  life's  stormy  doom, 

Did  not  thy  wing  of  love 
Come  lightly  beaming  o'er  the  gloom, 
Our  peace-branch  from  above  !" 

Kate  sat  near  a  scanty  pallet,  on  which  was  extended  the 
suffering  little  Robin,  her  bright,  beautiful  boy,  reduced  to 
skin  and  bone.  His  large,  mysterious  ej^es  were  turned 
upward,  watching  the  flitting  of  the  leaves  and  the  fila 
ments  of  sunshine  that  peeped  through  the  thick  foliage  of 
the  multicaulis.  An  infant  about  a  month  old,  meager, 
weary  of  its  existence,  and  petulant  with  pain  and  lassitude, 
lay  on  her  bosom,  and  she,  in  vain,  trying  to  charm  it  to 
repose. 

"  Mamma,"  said  Robin,  reaching  out  his  waxen  hand, 
"  take  me  to  your  bosom." 

"  Yes  love,  as  soon  as  little  Maria  is  still." 

"  Mamma,  if  God  had  not  sent  us  that  little  cross  baby, 
you  could  love  me  and  nurse  me  as  you  did  when  I  was 
sick  at  Cincinnati.  My  throat  is  hot,  mamma.  I  wish  I 
had  a  drink  in  a  tumbler — glass  tumbler,  mamma,  and  I 
could  look  through  it." 

"Dear,  you  shall  have  a  tumbler,"  cried  Kate,  her  lips 
quivering  with  emotion,  and  a  wild  fire  in  her  eyes. 

"  Yes,  mamma,  one  cool  drink  in   a  tumbler,  and  your 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  347 

little  Robin  will  fly  up,  up  there  where  that  little  bird 
sits.  Will  papa  come  to-night,  and  get  us  bread?  you 
said  he  would.  Will  he  get  me  a  tumbler  of  water  ?  No, 
mamma,  if  he  comes  he  will  be  drunk — nobody  ever  gets 
drunk  in  heaven,  mamma  ?" 

"No,  no,  my  son — my  angel." 

"  No  one  says  cross  words,  mamma,  darling  ?" 

"  No — bless  your  sweet  tongue." 

"  And  there  is  cool  water  there,  and  silver  cups  ?" 

"  Oh  !  yes,  my  child,  a  fountain  of  living  waters." 

"  And  it  never  gets  dark  there  ?" 

"Never!  never!"  and  the  tears  fell  in  streams  down 
Kate's  pale  cheek. 

"  And  nobody  gets  sick  there  and  dies  ?" 

"  No,  my  love." 

"  If  they  was  to,  God  would  let  the  angels  bring  them 
water,  I  know  he  would — from  the  big  fountain — Oh 
mamma,  don't  cry — do  people  cry  in  heaven  ?" 

"  Oh !  sweet  one,  God  wipes  away  all  tears,"  replied  the 
weeping  mother. 

"  And  the  angels  kiss  them  off  I  'spose — but  tell  me, 
mamma,  will  he  come  there  ?" 

"Who,  my  son?" 

"  You  know  mamma — papa." 

"  Hush,  Robin  dear,  lie  still,  you  worry  yourself." 

"  Oh  !  my  throat !  Dear  me,  if  I  only  had  a  little  water 
in  a  tumbler,  mamma — just  one  mouthful." 

"  You  shall  have  it — see  there  comes  your  papa — he 
will  get  you  fresh  water." 

"  Oh  !  Clarence,  poor  little  Robin  is  worse — his  fever  is 
very  high.  He  wants  to  drink  water  out  of  a  tumbler,  and 


348  MRS.  BEN  DARBT. 

£  have  not  one  in  the  world  to  give  him — he  must  not  die 
without — " 

"  Well,  you  would  come  where  there  is  no  sympathy — 
I  hope  you  are  satisfied." 

"  But  you  will  get  a  tumbler  for  our  poor  boy  ?" 

"  I  have  not  a  cent  in  the  world — I  just  spent  the  last 
for  bread — here  it  is,"  and  he  drew  a  loaf  of  bread  from 
his  pocket. 

"  There  is  twenty-five  cents,  Clarence,  do  haste,  and  get 
him  a  tumbler — Clarence,  he  may  die " 

"  Papa  !  papa  !"  said  little  Robin,  holding  out  his  arms, 
"  I  am  so  hot,  and  so  sick — will  you  papa,  will  you — -just 
this  once?" 

"  My  poor  boy,"  said  Clarence,  leaning  over  the  little 
withered  flower — Oh  !  God  it  is  too  much  !  What  a  wretch 
I  am  !" 

"  Papa,  don't  cry,"  said  Robin,  putting  his  little  fingers 
to  his  father's  eyes,  "  don't  cry,  but  be  good — poor  mamma 
loves  you  so — did  you  come  home  drunk  last  night  ?  I 
dreamed  you  did,  and  that  you  struck  mamma " 

"  Oh  !  hush,  Robin,  love — don't  talk  so  much." 

"  Papa,  you  will  not  come  home  drunk,  when  you  go 
after  my  little  tumbler,  will  you  ?" 

Clarence  tore  himself  from  the  little  arms  that  were 
twined  around  his  neck,  and  drawing  his  hat  over  his  eyes, 
hastened  down  street  as  fast  as  he  could  go.  Hour  after 
hour  passed  away,  and  he  did  not  return.  The  sun  was 
down,  and  still  he  did  not  come. 

"Why  does  papa  stay  so?"  asked  the  suffering  child, 
"  I  know  he  is  drinking  somewhere." 

"  Be  quiet  love,  he  will  come,  and " 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  340 

"  Yes,"  cried  Robin,  starting  from  the  pillow  and 
looking  wildly  around,  "  he  will  come  after  he  buys  whisky 
with  the  money,  and  leave  me  no  tumbler.  Oh  !  he  is  a 
wicked  father,"  and  the  poor  little  sufferer  trembled  with 
excitement. 

"  Lie  down,  my  darling,"  said  Kate  in  a  low  voice,  for 
her  heart  was  full  and  her  frame  very  weak,  "  watch  little 
sister,  and  I  will  have  a  glass  for  you — yes,  Robin,  you 
shall,  love." 

Gathering  her  shawl  about  her,  she  drew  the  door  to 
and  darted  over  the  commons  to  a  fine  building,  newly 
erected,  but  there  was  no  one  in ;  she  then  turned  to  a  very 
comfortable  house  that  stood  directly  behind;  she  opened 
the  gate  and  hurried  wildly  in. 

An  old  lady  was  busily  engaged  in  arranging  her  table 
for  the  evening  meal,  with  all  the  full  compliment  of  a 
plentiful  repast — I  mean  a  Hoosier  supper.  Turning,  she 
saw  the  delicate  stranger,  trembling  so  nervously  that  she 
could  neither  speak  nor  move. 

She  had,  as  if  by  instinctive  power,  ventured  into  the 
proper  place — the  home  of  kind  feelings. 

Mrs.  Grimes  dropped  the  cream  mug  from  her  fingers, 
and  caught  her  in  her  arms  and  drew  her  to  the  lounge. 

"  Oh  !  madam,"  cried  Kate,  "  are  you  a  mother  ?"  and 
Kate  in  great  agitation,  seemed  almost  crazy. 

"  Be  sure  I  am,  child,  and  will  be  one  to  you — speak 
out — what  is  the  matter  ?" 

"My  child,  my  dear  boy  is  ill — very  ill,  and  all  he 
craves  is  a  glass  to  drink  from — Oh  !  madam,  pardon  me, 
misfortune  has  made  me  simple,"  and  poor  Kate  cried  as 
if  her  heart  would  break. 


350  MRS.  BEN  DARBT. 

Mrs.  Grimes  wiped  the  tears  from  her  cheek,  and  taking 
her  hands  between  hers  said,  "  Now,  dear,  tell  me,  who 
are  you  ?" 

"  My  name  is  Duval — I  live  in  the  little  brown  cottage 
over  the  way — but  I  left  my  children  alone,  and  must  go 
back — Oh  !  madam,  thank  you." 

When  Kate  entered  her  humble  roof,  she  found  both 
children  asleep,  and  before  Kobin  awoke,  she  had  in  a 
measure  recovered  from  her  agitation,  but  her  tears  were 
still  flowing.  Sympathy,  that  mighty  pacifier  of  human 
wretchedness,  fell  upon  her  burning  heart  like  the  morning 

and  the  evening  dew. 

• 
When  the  little  boy  awoke  from  his  troubled  slumber, 

his  bright  eyes  danced  as  his  mother  handed  him,  not  only 
a  glass  of  water,  but  it  had  a  piece  of  ice  in  it.  It  cooled 
his  throat,  and  he  seemed  quite  revived  until  his  father  re 
turned,  which  was  sometime  after  night  came  on.  He  was 
very  drunk.  He  had  forgotten  what  he  went  after,  until 
his  poor  boy,  with  infantine  earnestness,  recalled  it.  But  he 
only  laughed  hideously,  and  said,  "Better  luck  next  time, 
my  boy!" 

"  I  won't  be  your  boy  any  more,  papa,"  said  the  child 
faintly,  "  I  am  mamma's." 

"Ah!  how  so,  Robin?" 

"  See  here  what  mamma  got — didn't  you,  mamma  ?" 
and  he  held  the  precious  glass  in  his  trembling  hands. 

"  The  devil  she  did,"  cried  Clarence,  snatching  it  from 
him.  "  Then  you  did  not  give  me  all  the  money  you  had, 
but  deceived  me!" 

"  I  did,  indeed,  I  did,  Clarence  ;  only  hear  me." 

He  was  in  a  rage  which  knew  no  bounds.    Forgetting  all 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  351 

her  love  and  devotion,  he  ground  his  teeth,  and  looking, 
with  all  the  evil  of  his  nature  concentered  in  one  glance,  he 
threw  the  precious  tumbler  at  her.  "  Teach  my  son,"  he 
said,  "to  hate  me!" 

The  missile  fell  against  the  wall,  and  broke  in  pieces. 

The  sick  child  was  so  terrified  that  he  became  entirely 
delirious,  and  springing  from  his  bed,  ran  to  the  corner  of 
the  room,  where,  overcome  by  his  exertion,  he  lay  panting 
and  nearly  senseless. 

Kate  had  risen  to  her  feet.  She  held  her  puny  babe  in 
one  arm,  and  was  about  passing  her  husband,  when  he 
seized  her  roughly  by  the  arm,  and  held  her  back. 

"Where  are  you  going,  madam  ?" 

"  To  my  child,  my  Robin — don't  you  see  he  is  dying  '?" 

"  All  a  ruse  to  get  past  me,"  cried  Clarence. 

"  Oh  !  Clarence,  see,  he  is  in  a  convulsion,"  and  she 
struggled  to  get  away. 

"  Let  me  go,  Clarence  Duval,  or  you  will  rue  it  until  the 
day  of  your  death.  Oh !  my  poor,  dying  boy,  is  there  no 
help  ?" 

A  slight  rap  was  heard  at  the  door,  and  Clarence  had 
scarcely  time  enough  to  release  his  wife,  before  Mrs. 
Grimes  turned  the  latch  and  stood  before  him. 

"We  want  no  intruders  here,  good  woman,"  said  Clar 
ence,  turning  his  rage  upon  the  new-comer.  "  So  take 
yourself  off!" 

"I  will,  when  I  get  ready,"  replied  Mrs.  Grimes,  coolly, 
taking  up  the  struggling  child.  "Your  child  is  very  sick, 
madam — poor  little  fellow." 

"  Oh  !  yes,"  said  Kate,  "tell  me,  is  he  dying — will  he 
die  ?  my  own  sweet  Robir." 


352  MKS.  BEN  DARBY. 

"  Peihaps  not,"  replied  Mrs.  Grimes,  feeling  his  pulse; 
"  he  is  cold  ;  give  me  something  to  wrap  him  up  in.  Ah  ! 
that  will  do;  his  feet  are  cakes  of  ice." 

"  When  we  want  your  services,  madam,"  said  Clarence, 
menacingly,  "  we  will  send  for  you — do  you  hear  ?" 

"  Be  quiet,  sir,  or  I  will  have  you  put  where  all  such 
birds  ought  to  be." 

"  This  is  my  house,  and  I  am  master  of  it." 

"  And  a  sorry  looking  concern  it  is,"  said  Mrs.  Grimes  ; 
"  I'd  be  ashamed  to  tell  my  name  if  I  was  a  New  York 
lawyer,  and  could  live  in  no  better  fix.  As  to  being  master, 
it  is  a  pity  you  can't  master  yourself;  I  am  sorry  for  you, 
indeed  and  double." 

"  Look  here,  I  want  you  to  leave  !" 

"  I  don't  care  a  snap  of  my  finger  for  such  as  you,  sir — 
I  despise  a  person  that  has  nothing  of  the  man  about  him 
but  his  breeches.  If  you  don't  like  me,  why  you  need  not 
look  at  me,  that's  all  that's  in  it ;  I  mean  to  stay  here  and 
assist  your  poor  wife,  with  her  sick  child.  Have  you  no 
help,  ma'am  ?" 

"  None  but  Heaven,"  said  Kate,  in  a  low  tone.  "  Excuse 
me,  madam,  I  must  weep  ;  I  can't  help  it." 

Clarence  went  off,  grumbling,  and  Mrs.  Grimes  set  about 
searching  every  hole  and  corner,  "to  rake  up,"  she  said, 
something  for  supper  ;  but  she  found  no  flour-barrel — no 
coffee-mill — no  gridiron — no  tea-caddy. 

"How  some  people  can  live,  is  a  mystery  to  me,"  said 
she,  as  she  investigated  the  kitchen  in  despair,  "here  is 
nothing  to  cook,  and  nothing  to  cook  it  in  ;  a  drunkard's 
pantry,  surely." 

She  bathed  the  little  boy  in  warm  water  ;  gave  him  some 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  353 

saffron  tea,  and  actually  brought  the  disease  out ;  his  face 
became  crimson. 

"  As  I  hope  to  be  saved,  Mrs.  Duval,"  said  the  old  lady, 
peering  over  him  with  the  candle,  "  your  boy  has  the  mea 
sles  ;  see,  they  are  out  thick  as  hops — well,  I'll  declare  !" 

"  The  measles  !"  cried  Kate,  springing  forward  with  re 
newed  hope,  "  then,  perhaps,  he  will  get  better." 

"  He  will,  that  very  thing,  dear  ;  the  worst  is  all  over 
now  ;  keep  him  well  wrapped  up,  and  give  him  a-plenty  of 
tea,  and  he  will  do  finely ;  take  good  care,  and  fasten  up 
your  door — I  will  be  back  in  a  few  minutes.  Do  you  feel 
ill?"  asked  Mrs.  Grimes,  as  she  noticed  that  Kate  held  her 
self  up  by  the  bedstead  post,  and  looked  so  feeble,  "  per 
haps  you  are  weary  ;  lie  down  by  your  children.  What  is 
it  ?  do  tell." 

"  Starvation  !"  said  Kate,  with  a  wild,  unearthly  stare, 
"  starvation  !  I  have  worked  hard — my  strength  has 
failed — my  baby  drains  my  constitution — it  feeds  upon  my 
life.  I  thought  to  die  unpitied,  but  oh  !  your  sweet,  kind 
voice  stirs  up  thoughts  of  home — of  mother — of  brother, 
and  all  the  dear  ones  of  old." 

"  Oh  !  don't  cry,  mamma,"  said  little  Robin,  when  he 
saw  her  weeping  on  Mrs.  Grimes's  shoulder.  "  Papa 
brought  you  some  bread." 

"  Yes,  Robin,  keep  quiet  love  ;  the  good  lady,  with  rolls 
and  butter,  will  come  soon." 

Mrs.  Grimes  came  in  with  a  basket  of  provisions,  and 
everything  necessary  for  the  sick  boy  and  his  starving 
mother. 

And  Peter  Larkins  came  over  with  a  rocking-chair  for 
Mrs.  Duval,  and  a  cradle  for  the  baby,  and  some  finely  split 
30 


354  .      MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

wood  to  kindle  a  fire,  as  the  evening  was  becoming  cool. 
Mrs.  Larkins  brought  a  comfort  or  two,  and  held  the  baby, 
while  Mrs.  Grimes  fixed  the  bed  for  the  sick  boy.  A  bright 
lamp  was  also  cheering  the  room. 

"Mamma,  we  will  not  see  the  dark  to-night;  the  lamp 
won't  let  us — will  it  ?"  said  Robin,  as  he  gazed  with  rap 
ture  at  the  lamp,  which  the  kind  ladies  had  placed  over  the 
chimney.  Many  a  dark  hour  had  he  hid  his  face  in  his 
wretched  mother's  lap,  trembling  with  fear  and  apprehen 
sion.  Children  never  love  darkness. 

Robin  soon  began  to  mend,  and  with  such  excellent 
nursing,  his  strength  soon  returned,  and  he  was  able  to 
creep  out  again  to  the  door-sill.  Clarence  had  never  been 
home  since  his  interview  with  Mrs.  Grimes.  When  he  first 
came  to  Hap-Hazard,  he  made  himself  known  as  an  Odd 
Fellow,  but  after  he  began  to  drink  hard  again,  he  neglected 
this  association  as  well  as  his  other  advantages.  Since  the 
illness  of  Robin,  the  Odd  Fellows  attended  very  closely  to 
his  family.  The  members  of  the  church  gathered  around 
poor  Kate  with  the  warmest  cordiality.  They  nursed  her 
during  her  illness,  for  she  also  had  taken  the  measles,  and 
was  very  ill  for  weeks.  The  extreme  illness  of  the  mother 
subjected  the  baby  to  a  diet  which  disagreed  with  its  con 
stitution.  It  sickened,  drooped,  and  no  medicine — no  cure 
could  restore  it.  It  became  weaker  and  weaker  every  day, 
and  before  the  last  smile  of  Indian  summer  had  faded  from 
the  sky,  the  angels  had  come  for  her.  The  little  violet  eyes 
slept  their  last  sleep ;  its  tiny  hands  were  folded  on  its 
bosom,  and  its  hair  lay  like  a  sunbeam  on  its  milk-white 
brow. 

They  laid  it  out  on  a  little  table,  and  placed  it  under  the 


* 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  366 

front  window,  and  hung  there  a  snowy  curtain  to  exclude 
the  light ;  but  the  fragrance  of  honeysuckles,  which  crept 
through  the  broken  window  to  the  chamber  and  laid  on 
the  worm-eaten  sill,  breathed  over  the  baby  corpse. 

All  was  still,  for  the  watcher's  heart  was  meekly  bowing 
to  the  will  of  Him  who  knows  our  burdens. 

It  was  dark  in  the  room  where  the  child  lay,  when  some 
one  took  a  candle  and  led  Mrs.  Duval  in  to  look  upon  its 
features  for  the  last  time.  She  leaned  over  it — kissed  its 
little  lips — laid  her  hand  upon  the  sunny  tress  that  filleted 
its  brow,  and  tears  fell  fast  upon  its  folded  hands. 

"  When  shall  these  eyes,  my  babe,  be  sealed 
As  peacefully  as  thine  f " 

Just  then  a  white  hand  was  protruded  through  the  win 
dow-pane  and  clenched  the  face  of  the  corpse. 

A  wild  scream,  and  poor  Kate,  terrified,  fell  exhauste 
into  the  arms  of  her  kind  attendant. 

"He  was  there!  it  was  his  hand!"  cried  Kate,  in 
excitement;  "  I  saw  it.     Clarence  was  there  !" 

"There  is  no  one  there,"  replied  Larkins;  "  I  have 
searched  every  place." 

"  I  saw  him  ;  his  hand  touched  the  child's  face--he  was 
pale  and  had  a  black  patch  over  his  eye." 

The  corpse  was  moved  away  from  the  windovi  and  Peter 
Larkins  promised  that  it  should  not  be  left  aloie ;  and  Kate 
retired  to  bed  to  weep  and  mourn,  not  over  the  dead  that 
the  Lord  had  taken,  but  the  living. 

Long  after  the  neighborhood  had  become  perfectly  quiet, 
Mrs.  Grimes,  Mrs.  Jenkins,  and  Peter  La/kins,  and  several 
others  were  watching  the  corpse,  sitting  in  the  room  where 
it  lay.  They  were  telling,  in  a  low  voice,  wonderful  ghost 


366  MRS.  BEN  DABBY. 

stories  and  horrible  incidents  of  the  dead  coming  to  life 
and  the  living  being  frightened  to  death. 

"  Dear,  bless  me,  Peter,"  said  Mrs.  Grimes;  "  don't  you 
mind  the  time,  when  there  was  such  a  hub-bub  in  Rich 
mond  about  old  Uncle  Gabriel's  insurrection?" 

"  Excuse  me,  Mrs.  Grimes,  I  had  not  the  privilege  of 
being  born  at  that  remarkable  period." 

"Well,  you  have  heard  tell  of  it;  for  there  never  was 
such  a  night  before  or  since,  nor  such  a  rain  since  the 
deluge.  In  an  hour's  time  Bacon  Quarter  branch  raised  so 
high,  that  the  negroes  could  not  cross  it — so  all  their 
schemes  failed." 

"  So  the  old  black  General  was  caught?"  said  Peter. 

"Yes,  and  hung,"  continued  Mrs.  Grimes;  "I  was  but 

a  very  small  child,  but  I  remember  the  terrible  night ;  it  was 

a  general  rain,  such  as  never  has  been  since  my  recollec- 

'on.     Well,  that  very  night  mother  and  Polly  Grimes, 

th,t  is,  John's  sister " 

'Oh,  yes!"  said  Peter;  "I  know  her  very  well — Mrs. 
BlaU,  as  is." 

"A  I  -was  saying,  Polly  and  mother  and  Jimmy  Roane, 
and  lot.  of  others  were  sitting  up  with  old  Mr.  Grimshaw's 
corpse ;  *e  had  died  the  night  before  in  his  chair.  No  one 
knew  it  uitil  morning.  He  was  laid  out  in  the  morning  ; 
but  they  coUd  not  straighten  his  limbs  at  all.  He  looked 
very  horrible  sitting  up  so  still  and  ghastly  with  his  mouth 
wide  open  ant  his  eyes  so  distended  and  glassy.  That 
was  the  way  hewas,  when  they  first  discovered  that  he  was 
dead,  and  they  could  not  get  him  to  appear  much  better." 

"  How  unnatural  a  dead  person  looks  in  a  sitting  pos 
ture,"  remarked  Peter. 


MRS.  BEN  DARB?.  357 

"Dreadfully,"  replied  Mrs.  Grimes;  "well,  as  I  was 
telling  you,  the  wind  blew  the  mournfullest  I  ever  heard, 
and  the  limbs  of  the  big  sycamore  rubbed  against  the  old 
piazza,  sounding  just  like  the  wailings  of  an  infant.  It 
seemed  too,  that  every  living  creature  was  possessed;  the 
horses  were  neighing,  the  cows  bellowing,  and  the  peafowls 
screeched ;  the  dogs  growled  as  if  fearfully  beset.  After 
supper — oh,  yes !  long  after  supper,  mother  and  I  went  to 
bed  and  left  Polly  and  Jim  sitting  up ;  after  a  while,  Polly 
got  sleepy  and  went  up  in  the  loft  and  laid  down  with  the 
children.  Jim,  you  know,  was  very  poor  company  at  best, 
let  alone  such  a  dull  occasion ;  so  Polly  give  out,  and  being 
left  quite  alone,  Jim  fell  asleep  and  he  slept  so  sound  that 
it  seemed  to  him  (he  said  afterward)  just  like  a  trance. 
He  heard  noises  in  the  room — a  low  whispering ;  sometimes 
he  dreamed  the  corpse  had  raised  itself  up  on  the  cooling 
board  and  straightened  itself  up ;  then  it  appeared  to  be 
himself  that  was  laid  out,  and  he  tried  to  move  and  could 
not — some  one  was  pressing  him  down  with  a  large  stone. 
It  would  have  made  your  hair  stand  on  eend  to  hear  him  tell 
it !  Some  thought  he  had  taken  too  much  crab-apple  cider 
on  his  cherrybounce — how  that  was,  I  can't  say ;  but  he 
denied  it  flatly.  All  at  once,  Jim  saw  the  candle  flare  and 
he  started  up  from  his  sleep,  and — Laws-a-me !  Mr.  Lar- 
kins,  didn't  you  hear  something  at  the  window?" 

"I  guess  it  is  a  night-hawk  in  the  tree — go  on,  Mrs. 
Grimes." 

"  When  Jim  Roane  riz  up,"  continued  Mrs.  Grimes, 
"  what  should  he  see  but  old  Mr.  Grimshaw  sitting  bolt  up 
in  his  chair,  with  his  arms  hanging  down  quite  limber  and 
his  feet  pressed  out  easy  like -" 


358  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

"Had  he  come  to  life  again?"  asked  Mrs.  Jenkins. 

"  Well,  they  thought  so  at  first,  but  after  they  summoned 
up  courage  enough  to  go  up  to  him,  they  found  out  it  was 
only  his  clothes  stuffed  up  on  a  pillow,  to  represent 
him  !" 

"  And  where  was  the  corpse  ?"  asked  Peter. 

"That  has  never  been  known  to  this  day  —  it  is  a 
mystery  that  will  never  be  cleared  until  the  great  day." 

"  How  could  it  get  away  ?"  asked  Susan. 

"Why,  the  doctors  stole  it  while  Jim  was  in  his  trance." 

"Listen!"  cried  Mrs.  Jenkins;  "some  one  is  at  the 
window  !  Go,  Mr.  Larkins,  and  see  who  it  is.  Just  then 
an  arm  was  pushed  through  the  broken  pane,  and  the  cur 
tain  lifted.  I  should  not  wonder  if  it  was  the  doctor's  stu 
dents  trying  to  steal  the  corpse  !" 

"  How  you  talk  !" 

"  Indeed,  I  should  not ;  they  come,  sometimes,  all  the 
way  from  Cincinnati  for  them.  They  took  up  Elam  Lamb's 
wife's  brother-in-law's  step-child,  that  died  last  Christmas!" 

"  You  don't  say  so  !" 

"Indeed  they  did!" 

Peter  returned  with  information  that  accounted  for  the 
interruption.  Clarence  Duval  had  been  seen  twice  at  the 
window.  Some  of  the  citizens  were  trying  to  take  him, 
but  he  had  eluded  their  pursuit,  and  had,  they  presumed, 
secreted  himself  in  some  grogshop. 

"  Is  there  any  one  in  this  community  vile  enough  to  as 
sist  him  in  his  unmanly  ways?"  asked  Mrs.  Jenkins. 

"  Yes,  madam,  in  every  community." 

"  It  is  time  the  law  was  taking  hold  —  there  is  no  other 
hope  left !" 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  359 

"  Duval,"  said  Mr.  Larkins,  "  has  drank  up  his  law 
library,  and " 

"  Laws  me  !  I  always  heard  say  that  the  law  was  the 
driest  thing  in  nature  !"  said  Mrs.  Jenkins,  laughing. 

"  Yes,  but  like  everything  else,  it  can,  madam,  be  turned 
into  cocktails  and  smashes  /" 

"  Well,  really,"  said  Mrs.  Saul  Jenkins,  "I  wish  in  my 
heart " 

What  she  was  going  to  wish  for,  I  never  knew,  for  just 
at  that  instant,  some  of  the  neighbors  came  in,  forcing 
Clarence  along  with  them  ;  they  had  found  him,  but  he  was 
delirious,  and  under  the  influence  of  a  violent  fever  ;  his 
clothes  were  all  gone,  except  his  shirt  and  pants — his  head 
was  covered  with  an  old  hat,  which  had  lost  half  of  its 
brim,  and  a  good  portion  of  its  crown  ;  all  trace  of  its  ori 
ginal  shape  or  fashion  was  gone.  It  would  have  been  a 
perfect  enigma  to  le  roi  des  chapeliers  —  the  immortal 
Genin. 

He  had  sold  his  clothes,  and  everything  he  could  steal 
from  home,  to  one  of  those  human  vampires  who  infest 
every  city  and  village  in  the  Union,  where  the  law  has 
guaranteed  them  indemnification  for  all  efforts  to  suppress 
their  outrages  on  the  social  orders  of  life. 

Clarence  Duval  had  drank  until  he  had  become  a  perfect 
wreck  in  mind  and  body.  During  his  absence,  he  had  fre 
quently  returned  at  night,  and  looked  in  at  the  family, 
through  a  broken  pane  in  the  window-sash,  but  seeing 
strangers  administering  to  their  necessities,  he  dared  not 
show  his  face.  Miserable  and  sick,  he  secreted  himself  in 
a  nauseous  cellar,  from  which  he  could,  at  times,  steal  forth 
to  renew  his  bottle  of  "  red  eye." 


360  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

The  night  the  baby  was  a  corpse,  he  imagined  that  some 
thing  wrong  was  in  progress  at  his  deserted  home.  He  re 
solved  to  linger  about  the  premises  to  satisfy  his  curiosity, 
and  also  for  the  purpose  of  stealing  out  his  last  law  book, 
which  laid  upon  the  little  table  by  the  window.  He  thought 
to  put  his  hand  through  and  seize  it,  but  instead  of  the 
book,  his  hand  pressed  the  face  of  his  dead  child  —  his 
daughter  ! 

Struck  with  horror,  he  rushed  from  the  spot  into  the  ad 
joining  woods.  From  this  moment,  it  seems,  his  mind  was 
entirely  unbalanced  by  the  horrible  sensations  which  seized 
upon  him.  Why  he  returned  again,  no  one  knows,  unless 
it  was  instinct  drawing  him  to  her  alone  of  all  the  world 
that  loved  him. 

Those  who  were  watching  for  him,  found  him  and 
brought  him  to  the  house  —  he  had  fallen  into  a  fit  of  long 
duration;  when  it  passed  off,  he  was  a  maniac.  They  con 
fined  him  with  cords  to  his  bed.  He  either  suffered  violent 
paroxysms,  or  lay  perfectly  insensible  to  everything  around 
him. 

The  Odd  Fellows,  with  the  assistance  of  the  kind  citizens 
of  Hap-Hazard,  did  all  they  could  to  render  Mrs.  Duval 
the  aid  she  so  much  needed. 


MRS.  BEN  DARBV. 


Cljapter  35. 


Thou  bonnie  gem.— BURNS. 


THE  little  coffin  was  lowered  to  its  narrow  home,  and 
Maria  sleeps  where  the  kind,  warm-hearted  friends  laid 
her  —  those  who  had  picked  her  up  like  a  jewel  by  the 
wayside. 

In  the  grave-yard  at  Hap-Hazard,  under  a  juniper-tree, 
you  can  find  a  white  marble  slab ;  it  bears  this  simple  line 
of  Burns, 

"Thou  bonnie  gem." 

Kate,  weak  and  heart-broken,  lingered  about  her 
wretched  husband  until  nature  failed,  and  she  was  again 
brought  to  a  bed  of  pain  and  suffering,  from  which  she 
did  not  rise  until  long  after  her  husband  was  laid  under  the 
clods  of  the  valley. 

His  death  —  I  cannot  record  the  awful  demoniac  senti 
ments  and  phrases,  that  composed  that  terrific  drama. 
They  have  passed  from  my  memory  like  some  sacrilegious 
fantasy  —  some  unholy  dream,  leaving  only  the  thrill  and 
pathos,  chilling  the  heart,  and  curdling  the  blood  ;  but  I 
never  can  forget  how  he  looked,  with  eyes  gleaming  like 
phosphoric  rays  from  their  dark,  deep  cavities,  muttering 
incoherent  and  unknown  sounds  —  striking  the  air  with 
his  clenched  fists  —  defying  the  world  to  mortal  combat  — 
— screaming  and  crying — now  prostrate,  rolling,  and  wal- 
31 


302  MRS.  BEN  DAUB*. 

tewing  —  blaspheming  —  battling  an  army  of  imaginary 
devils — now  sinking  into  torpidity — now  locked  in  the  rigid 
embrace  of  a  revolting  slumber — his  eyes  term,  and  half 
open  —  his  mouth  ajar,  crusted  with  the  froth  that  issued 
from  his  bloated  lips,  and  gurgled  down  his  moustache. 
His  whole  nature  was'  paralyzed.  All  effort  to  arouse 
him,  a  mockery  —  hopeless  and  helpless.  He  expired 
amid  the  shrieks  of  his  own  blasphemies.  All  prospect  of 
heaven  blotted  out  forever,  he  writhes  in  vivid  anticipation 
of  all  the  horrors  that  have  ever  been  imagined  of  that 
dark  region  ! — region  of  black  despair  ! 

This  is  the  finishing  stroke  to  the  dram-seller's  work;  he 
sends  his  victim  to  an  immaculate  bar,  without  a  prepara 
tion — without  a  plea  ;  what  cares  he,  so  that  he  gathers  the 
blistering  pennies — certificates  of  future  torments — for  his 
heart  is  callous  to  repentance — hermetically  sealed  to  good 
ness  and  to  truth. 

The  non  slave-holder  and  the  abolitionist  may  dwell 
upon  the  horrid  features  of  the  "  negro-buyer,"  the  infer 
nal  trafficker  in  human  gore — in  human  flesh  !  tearing 
asunder  all  the  ties  of  consanguinity  and  love  ;  separating 
the  mother  from  the  infant  that  draws  its  life  from  her  bo 
som  ;  tearing  the  husband  from  the  wife  of  his  youth  with 
out  one  hope  of  re-union  in  this  valley  of  sojourn  ;  consign 
ing  them  to  hardships  and  slavery.  But,  after  all,  what  is 
he,  compared  to  the  monster  of  civil  society !,  the  liquor- 
vender — the  dram-maker. 

The  former  may  part  the  mother  from  the  child — the 
wife  and  husband  ;  but  away  off  in  the  land  of  their  cap 
tivity,  with  merciless  task-masters,  toil,  and  starvation,  yea, 
in  bodily  torture,  the  unchained  spirit — the  redeemed  soul — 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  363 

free  from  the  shackles  of  the  oppressor,  flies  back  to  the 
memory  of  a  mother's  love — a  father's  blessing  ;  and  the 
poor  slave  that  is  pressing  sugar  or  gathering  cotton  in  the 
plantations,  can  think  of  God  and  of  Him  who  died  to  save 
him  ;  he  can  pray  and  hold  communion  with  angels,  and  be 
wafted,  by  prayer  and  faith,  to  endless  beatitude ;  like 
Moses,  he  can  look  beyond  his  pilgrimage,  and  survey  the 
promised  land,  and  rejoice  in  the  hope  of  immortality  and 
bliss,  in  that  region  of  freedom  and  happiness  that  lies 
beyond  the  valley  of  death.  He  can  bear,  unmoved,  "  thte 
world's  dread  scorn,"  nor  heed  its  smile  of  pity,  and  while 
he  is  toiling  beneath  a  blistering  sun,  he  can  sing  : 

"  Let  cares  like  a  wild  deluge  come, 

Let  storms  of  sorrow  fall, 
So  I  but  safely  reach  my  home, 
My  God,  my  Heaven,  my  all.'" 

The  "negro-buyer"  may  sell  the  sinews,  the  flesh  and 
the  strength  ;  but  the  mind  !  the  soul !  no,  he  cannot  barter 
them  for  gold  ! 

Behold  !  the  liquor-seller,  the  dram-retailer,  in  his  ac 
cursed  stall ;  he  is  coining  the  widow's  tears — the  orphan's 
hopes  ;  he  is  speculating  in  human  reason  ;  buying  up  the 
feeble  efforts  of  nature  to  retrieve  its  lost  powers  ;  he  sells 
the  soul  to  endless  perdition  ;  the  weak — the  tempted,  for 
a  shilling  ;  with  poisonous  and  corrosive  merchandise,  he 
burns  out  the  last  remains  of  virtue  ;  and  with  his  Circean 
cup,  "drugged  with  the  deadly  hellebore,"  destroys  every 
principle  of  morality,  and  turns  man  to  a  brute. 

All  the  ties  of  domestic  life  are  riven  in  twain ;  the  son 
murders  the  mother  who  bore  him  !  the  mother,  the  infant 
smiling  at  her  breast !  the  husband  curses  the  wife.  Inno- 


364  MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

cent  souls  are  decoyed  within  his  circle — rifled,  and  left 
to  the  world's  mercy.  What  is  it  that  the  dram-seller  docs 
not  do  that  is  heinous  and  demoralizing  ?  Genius,  as  ambi 
tious  and  soaring  as  Icarus,  is  prostrated  in  the  dust — to 
the  filth  of  the  gutter ;  the  soul  is  incarcerated  in  utter 
darkness — in  despair.  He  does  all  this  in  the  present  cen 
tury  of  order,  knowledge,  peace  and  religion  ;  he  is  shunned 
by  the  good ;  despised  even  by  those  who  seek  his  domi 
cile.  Lifting  the  mask  from  his  hideous  face,  he  can  say, 
as  the  terrible  Mokhanna  : 

"  Here,  judge  if  Hell,  with  all  its  powers  to  damn, 
Can  add  one  curse  to  the  yile  thing  I  am." 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY.  366 


Cfltulu0ifliu 

AFTER  the  burial  of  her  husband  and  child,  Mrs.  Duval 
wrote  home  for  assistance  and  advice,  and  it  was  not  until 
Peter  Larkins  carried  the  letter  to  the  post-office,  that  he 
discovered  she  belonged  to  the  Temple  family  ;  it  is  useless 
to  say  that  this  information  was  very  pleasing  to  the  Wolf- 
Gap  friends,  and  drew  the  young  widow  still  closer  to  the 
sympathetic  hearts  of  her  neighbors  ;  she  acknowledged  in 
the  depths  of  her  grateful  soul  she  could  never  repay  them 
for  their  kindness  ;  and  that  one  who  wished  to  live  unpi- 
tied  and  uncared  for,  must  seek  the  crowded  city,  where 
scenes  of  wretchedness  destroy  the  refinement  of  the  feel 
ings,  and,  by  degrees,  harden  the  heart,  until  it  becomes 
suspicious  and  selfish. 

When  Mrs.  Duval  returned  to  New  York,  she  was  ac 
companied  by  Mrs.  Grimes  and  the  Larkinses,  who  were 
invited  to  spend  the  winter  in  the  city;  Theodore  and  Elinor 
were  to  be  married  during  their  stay. 

Mrs.  Duval  was  so  very  much  caressed  in  Hap-Hazard, 
that  she  left  it  with  many  bitter  regrets,  although  she  suffered 
severe  trials  and  mortifications ;  yet  she  was  leaving  in  it 
the  graves  of  her  husband  and  child — the  beloved  dead — 


MRS.  BEN  DARBY. 

the  sacred  and  holy  tie  that  binds  the  restless  heart  ever  to 
one  spot.  It  matters  not  where  the  precious  one  reposes  ; 
it  may  be  on  the  lone  hill-side,  where  travelers  scooped  its 
grave  ;  it  may  lie  beneath  the  marble  of  Italy,  or  the  sculp 
ture  of  a  Canova,  or  beneath  the  ocean's  waves,  in  "a 
deep  bed  of  whispering  reeds ;"  yet,  a  mother's  heart 
and  a  wife's  memory  can  never  forget  the  silent  spot ;  in 
hours  of  solitude  and  commemoration,  the  sad  heart  lingers 
there,  like  a  pilgrim  at  his  shrine,  when  it  is  forgotten 
and  deserted  by  all  the  world  beside  —  such  is  a  true 
woman's  love. 

Mrs.  Duval  loved  the  West — its  plain  manners,  and  its 
blunt  but  straight-forward,  go-ahead  kindness.  It  is  true 
she  found  it  mixed  up  with  a  little  curiosity,  a  small  por 
tion  of  officiousness,  and  sometimes  palpably  destitute  of 
the  refinement  of  sensibility ;  still  there  was  so  much  of  the 
pure  milk  of  human  kindness,  a  just  appreciation  of  the 
requirements  and  the  necessities  of  the  stranger,  that  all 
minor,  delinquencies  were  forgiven  and  forgotten. 

There  were  many  crude  remarks  made  on  Mrs.  Grimes's 
visit  to  New  York.  Mrs.  Berryman  wondered  why  such 
an  old-fashioned  body  as  she  could  think  of  exhibiting 
herself  in  the  city;  how  would  she  look  on  Broadway, 
trying  on  gloves  at  Stewart's,  or  eating  lunch  at  Taylor's, 
or  figuring  at  the  Crystal  Palace,  if  she  stays  so  long. 

These  little  inuendoes  were  maliciously  repeated  to  the 
good  lady ;  she  laughed  in  her  benign  manner  and  said : 
"Don't  be  uneasy,  my  dear  children;  I  will  try  and  not 
bring  disgrace  upon  Hap-Hazard,  but  represent  it  to  the 
best  of  my  ability." 


MRS.  BEN  DAUBY.  367 

A  letter  has  been  received  from  her  since  her  arrival  in 
the  city,  which  brought  the  pleasing  intelligence  of  the 
contemplated  removal  of  Mrs.  Duval  and  her  mother  to 
the  West. 

I  suppose  they  will  find  room  in  Hap-Hazard;  if  not, 
the  Hoosier  land  is  long  and  wide,  and  there  is  no  spot  in 
it  so  arid  or  forlorn  but  the  weary  may  find  in  it  rest,  and 
the  sufferer  sympathy  and  kindness. 


THE    KN1) 


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piness  of  society;  and  although  the  subject  is  apparently  a  hackneyed  one,  yet 
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"  The  stylo  in  which  it  is  written  is  attractive  and  fascinating — there  is 
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most  female  writers,  excels  in  her  descriptions  of  conversations,  which  are 
easy  and  natural,  and  that,  in  our  opinion,  is  a  most  important  feature  in  all 
works  of  fiction.  In  many  novels  the  characters  are  made  to  speak  in  an  nn 
natural  manner,  not  at  all  in  harmony  with  the  parts  assigned  them — but  in 
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"  The  moral  reflections  necessarily  connected  with  the  theme  which  is  the 
basis  of  the  story,  are  characterized  by  good  sense,  and  some  of  them  are  truly 
eloquent,  suggestive  of  thought  to  the  reader,  and  they  indicate  that  the 
authoress  possesses  literary  abilities  of  no  ordinary  kind.  .  .-j'*  -.-  V 

"  It  is  through  moral  and  persuasive  means,  after  all,  that  the  opponents 
of  intemperance  must  rely  on  to  accomplish  their  ends.  Its  blighting  and 
injurious  results  upon  the  happiness  of  the  race  should  be  pressed  home  upon 
the  convictions  of  every  one,  and  as  a  means  of  so  doing,  this  WEAL  AND  Wos 
OF  SOCIAL  LIFE  cannot  but  prove  a  powerful  auxiliary.  It  is  destined,  undoubt 
edly,  to  have  a  run." 

Christian  Herald. 

"  Its  scenes  are  laid  inVirginia,  in  New  York  city,  and  in  the  Hoosier  State. 
In  all  these  various  localities,  the  authoress  seems  equally  at  home,  and  por 
trays  life  and  character  with  accuracy  and  with  power.  She  has  talents  for 
this  kind  of  writing  of  high  promise Has  so  many  thrilling  pas 
sages  and  well-drawn  characters,  that  yon  read  it  with  absorbed  attention.  It 
cannot  fail  to  achieve  for  Mrs.  Collins  an  enviable  popularity,  and  to  do  much 
good.  We  need  just  such  books — books  that  portray  the  vices  of  fashionable 
life — that  show  how  the  first  step  is  taken  toward  ruin 

"  Our  authoress  follows  her  characters  through  all  the  stages  of  their  degra 
dation  and  guilt.  She  goes  with  them  to  the  Five  Points,  to  the  Tombs,  and 

to  the  Hospital She  takes  us  with  her  to  the  drunkard's  home. 

She  tells  of  the  hunger  and  the  fear,  the  toil  and  the  suifering  that  are  there. 
She  paints,  with  a  woman's  delicate  skill,  the  meek  patience,  the  long-abused, 
but  unchanging  love  of  the  drunkard's  wife.  In  such  delineations,  she  seems 
peculiarly  at  home.  She  touches  the  deepest  chords  of  the  heart,  and  makes 
them  vibrate  with  pity  and  with  indignation." 

Gazette. 

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cause  many  a  reader  already  treading  in  this  fatal  path,  to  turn  back  ere  it 
oecomes  impossible  to  avoid  the  destruction  to  which  it  leads." 


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already  hosts  of  admirers  of  her  literary  productions,  this  work,  we  predict, 
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high  talents.  Mrs.  BEN  DARBY  is  a  moral  and  temperance  story,  and  presents, 
in  vivid  and  life-like  pictures,  the  foibles  of  social  life,  and  the  evils  which 
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"A  deeply  interesting,  and  in  passages  of  it,  a  powerful  work.  It  vividly 
portrays  some  of  the  terrific  exploits  of  strong  drink  in  both  high  and  low 
life.  Nor  are  such  scenes,  as  it  depicts,  either  imaginary  or  few.  God's  bright 
sun  and  beautiful  stars  look  down  perpetually  on  many  such,  all  over  our  coun  - 
try.  Slavery,  hateful  as  it  is,  is  less  a  curse  to  body  and  soul  than  Intempe 
rance.  Nothing  degrades  the  whole  man  so  low  beneath  the  very  brutes,  as  rum. 

"  Let  this  book  circulate.  It  has  a  beneficent  aim,  and  is  the  vehicle- of  ad 
mirably  told,  and  most  salutary  lessons." 

Times. 

"  The  volume  before  us  is  as  unquestionable  an  outgrowth  of  the  Maine  Law 
excitement,  as  '  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin'  was  of  that  against  the  Fugitive  Slave 
Bill.  Each  is  less  a  creature  of  the  author's  individual  mind,  than  of  the  pres 
sure  of  popular  opinion.  Each  are  equally  hearty  protests  against  wrong  and 
injustice.  There  is  in  both  the  same  unflinching  grappling  with  the  terrible 
facts;  evincing  remarkable  courage  in  a  woman.  Shunning  nothing  that  can 
add  a  new  terror  to  the  tale  of  misery,  the  authoress  of  Mrs.  Ben  Darby  haa 
followed  the  vice  of  drunkenness  to  all  its  haunts,  and  has  sketched  it  in  its 
daintiest  form  of  fascination,  as  well  as  in  its  grim  and  dismal  aspect  of  open 
degradation.  Barely  has  a  woman  ventured  to  hold  the  torch  to  such  a  dark 

recess  of  human  woe." 

Dayton  Empire. 

"  It  contains  life-like  sketches  of  American  Society  written  in  a  style  which 
cannot  fail  to  interest  the  reader.  We  took  it  up,  designing  to  give  it  a  hasty 
glance— to  note  the  style  and  drift  of  the  author— but  found  it  so  captivating 
that  we  read  the  whole  before  quitting  it." 

Daily  Ancient  metropolis. 

"  Her  thrilling  sketches  of  the  results  of  intemperance  harrow  up  the  very 
6oul.  To  those  who  hope  to  see  their  country  imitating  that  proud  contempt 
for  lust  and  wine  so  remarkable  in  the  early  days  of  our  great  prototype,  the 
Eoman  Eepublic,  rather  than  that  disgraceful  surrender  to  them  which  hast 
ened  her  decadence,  we  would  commend  this  interesting  work,  as  presenting 
fresh  incentives  for  exertion  toward  so  glorious  a  result." 
Journal  and  Messenger. 

"  We  commenced  glancing  through  this  book  professionally,  and  with  reluctance.  As  we 
proceeded,  we  were  fascinated  with  its  witching  descriptions  of  nature,  its  vivid  concep 
tions,  its  startling  scenes,  its  master-skill  in  the  delineation  of  character.  The  author  un 
doubtedly  possesses  great  genius  in  these  departments  of  writing — in  dramatic  construction. 
We  know  of  no  passage,  anywhere,  more  uniquely  beautiful — more  intensely  absorbing — 
more  masterly  in  delineation — more  terrific — more  overpowering  in  the  pathetic,  than  the 
thirty-fourth  chapter.  It  is  indeed  a  Gem.  We  doubt  whether  the  celebrated  chapter  de 
voted  to  the  death  of  Eva,  in  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,  is  superior.  *  *  *  *  It  is  certainly  the 
most  powerful  temperance  tale  that  we  ever  perused." 


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piessively,  yet  so  properly  and  guardedly  examined.  Far  above  common-place  specimens. 
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tance,  in  a  way  that  offends  not  the  taste,  yet  reaches  the  heart  and  engages  the  thoughts." 
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"  WE  would  that  every  young  man  in  the  land  could  be  persuaded  to  read  it  carefully."— 
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"DR.  Fisher  has  spoken  honestly  and  boldly.  *  *  *  Characterized  by  great  energy 
of  thought,  a  free  and  copious  style,  and  by  a  spirit  of  high  Christian  philanthropy."— 
Puritan  Recorder. 

"  HAS  proceeded  boldly  where  most  public  teachers  aro  too  timid  to  venture,  and  his 
manly  plainness  is  also  marked  by  prudence,  and  true  delicacy.'" — Presbyterian  oftlte  West. 

"WRITTEN  in  a  style  most  inviting  to  youth  and  worthy  of  a  very  wide  circulation." — 
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Palladium. 

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THE  FOOT-PRINTS  OF  THE  CREATOR  ;  or,  the  Asterolepsis  of  Stromness, 
with  numerous  illustrations.  By  HUGH  MILLER,  author  of  "  The  Old  Red  Sandstone," 
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12mo cloth,.... 1,00 

DR.  BUCKLAND,  at  a  meeting  of  the  British  Association,  said  he  had  never  been  so  much  aston 
ished  in  his  life,  by  the  powers  of  any  man,  as  he  had  been  by  the  geological  descriptions  of  Mr. 
Miller.  That  wonderful  man  described  these  objects  with  a  facility  which  made  him  ashamed  of 
the  comparative  meagreness  and  poverty  of  his  own  descriptions  in  the  "  Bridgewater  Treatise," 
which  had  cost  him  hours  and  days  of  labor.  He  would  give  his  left  hand  to  possess  such  power* 
of  description  as  this  man;  and  if  it  pleased  Providence  to  spare  his  useful  life,  he,  if  any  one. 
would  certainly  render  science  attractive  and  popular,  and  do  equal  service  to  theology  and  geology. 

"  Mr.  Miller's  style  is  remarkably  pleasing;  his  mode  of  popularizing  geological  knowledge  un 
surpassed,  perhaps  unequalled;  and  the  deep  reverence  for  Divine  Revelation  pervading  all,  adda 
interest  and  value  to  the  volume." — Sew  York  Com.  Advertiser. 

"  The  publishers  have  again  covered  themselves  with  honor,  by  giving  to  the  American  public, 
with  the  Author's  permission,  an  elegant  reprint  of  a  foreign  work  of  science.  We  earnestly 
bespeak  for  this  work  a  wide  and  free  circulation,  among  all  who  love  science  much  and  religion 
more." — Puritan  Recorder, 

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amount  of  information." —  Westminster  Review. 


elegant.  It  contains  the  results  of  twenty  years  close  observation  and  experiment,  resulting  in  an 
accumulation  of  facts,  which  not  only  dissipate  some  dark  and  knotty  old  theories  with  regard  to 
ancient  formations,  but  establish  the  great  truths  of  geology  in  more  perfect  and  harmonious  con 
sistency  with  the  great  truths  of  revelation."  —  Albany  Spectator. 

PRINCIPLES  OF  ZOOLOGY  :  Touching  the  Structure,  Development,  Distribution, 
and  Natural  Arrangement  of  the  RACES  OF  ANIMALS  living  and  extinct,  with  numerous 
illustrations.  For  the  use  of  Schools  and  Colleges.  Part  I.,  COMPARATIVE  PHYSIOLOGY. 
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*  This  work  places  us  in  possession  of  information  half  a  century  in  advance  of  all  our  elemec 
tary  works  on  this  subject.  *  *  No  work  of  the  same  dimensions  has  ever  appeared  in  the 
English  language,  containing  so  much  new  and  valuable  information  on  the  subject  of  which  it 
treats." — Prof.  James  Hall,  in  the  Albany  Journal. 

"  A  work  emanating  from  so  high  a  source  hardly  requires  commendation  to  give  it  currency. 
The  volume  is  prepared  for  the  student  in  zoological  science ;  it  is  simple  and  elementary  in  it* 
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narrow  compass  requisite  for  the  purpose  Intended." — Silliman's  Journal. 

u  The  work  may  safely  be  recommended  as  the  best  book  of  the  kind  In  our  language." — CArt* 
tian  Examiner. 

"  It  is  not  a  mere  book,  but  a  work — a  real  work  in  the  form  of  a  book.  Zoology  is  an  interesting 
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WRITING  COPIES,  Plain  and  Ornamental, from  the  "Progressive Penmanship,"  bound 
in  one  book, 16?» 


THE  EARTH  AND  MAN  :  Lectures  on  COMPARATIVE  PHYSICAL  GEOGRAPHY,  in  its 
relation  to  the  History  of  Mankind.  By  ARNOLD  GUYOT,  Professor  of  Physical  Geography 
and  History,  Neuchatel.  Translated  from  the  French,  by  Prof.  C.  C.  FELTON,  with  illus 
trations.  Second  thousand.  12mo cloth 1,25 

"  Those  who  have  been  accustomed  to  regard  Geography  as  a  merely  descrip4ve  branch  of  learn 
ing,  drier  than  the  remainder  biscuit  after  a  voyage,  will  be  delighted  to  find  this  hitherto  un 
attractive  pursuit  converted  into  a  science,  the  principles  of  which  are  definite  and  the  results 
conclusive." — North  American  Review. 

"  The  grand  idea  of  the  work  is  happily  expressed  by  the  author,  where  he  calls  it  the  geograph 
ical  march  of  history.  Faith,  science,  learning,  poetry,  taste,  in  a  word,  genius,  have  liberally 
contributed  to  the  production  of  the  work  under  review.  Sometimes  we  feel  as  if  we  were 
studying  a  treatise  on  the  exact  sciences ;  at  others,  it  strikes  the  ear  like  an  epic  poem.  Now  it 
reads  like  history,  and  now  it  sounds  like  prophecy.  It  will  find  readers  in  whatever  language 
it  may  be  published." — Christian  Examiner. 

"  The  work  is  one  of  high  merit,  exhibiting  a  wide  range  of  knowledge,  great  research,  and  a 
philosophical  spirit  of  investigation.  Its  perusal  will  well  repay  the  most  learned  in  such  subjects, 
and  give  new  views  to  all,  of  man's  relation  to  the  globe  he  inhabits."— Silliman's  Journal. 

COMPARATIVE    PHYSICAL    AND    HISTORICAL    GEOGRAPHY;    or,  the 

Study  of  the  Earth  and  its  Inhabitants.    A  series  of  graduated  courses  for  the  use  of 
Schools.    By  ARNOLD  GUYOT,  author  of  "  Earth  and  Man,"  etc. 

The  series  hereby  announced  will  consist  of  three  courses,  adapted  to  the  capacity  of  three  dif 
ferent  ages  and  periods  of  study.  The  first  is  intended  for  primary  schools,  and  for  children  of 
from  seven  to  ten  years.  The  second  is  adapted  for  higher  schools,  and  for  young  persons  of  from 
ten  to  fifteen  years.  The  third  is  to  be  used  as  a  scientific  manual  in  Academies  and  Colleges. 

Each  course  will  be  divided  into  two  parts,  one  of  purely  Physical  Geography,  the  otner  for  Eth 
nography,  Statistics,  Political  and  Historical  Geography.  Each  part  will  be  illustrated  by  a  colored 
Physical  and  Political  Atlas,  prepared  expressly  for  this  purpose,  delineating,  with  the  greates 
care,  the  configuration  of  the  surface,  and  the  other  physical  phenomena  alluded  to  in  the  corres 
ponding  work,  the  distribution  of  the  races  of  men,  and  the  political  divisions  into  States,  3-0.,  $-e 

The  two  parts  of  the  first  or  preparatory  course  are  now  in  a  forward  state  of  preparation,  anc 
will  be  issued  at  an  early  day. 

MURAL  MAPS:  a  series  of  elegant  colored  Maps,  exhibiting  the  Physical  Phenomena 
of  the  Globe.  Projected  on  a  large  scale,  and  intended  to  he  suspended  in  the  Recitation 
Boom.  By  ARNOLD  GUYOT [in  preparation] 

KITTO'S  POPULAR  CYCLOP/EDIA  OF  BIBLICAL  LITERATURE.  Con 
densed  from  the  larger  work.  By  JOHN  Kirro,  D.  D.,  F.  S.  A.,  author  of  "  The  Pictoral 
Bible,"  "History  and  Physical  Geography  of  Palestine,"  Editor  of  "The  Journal  of 
Sacred  Literature,"  etc.  Assisted  by  numerous  distinguished  Scholars  and  Divines, 
British,  Continental  and  American.  With  numerous  illustrations.  One  volume, 
octavo,  812pp cloth, 3,00 

THK  POPCLAB  BIBLICAL  CYCLOPAEDIA  OF  LITEBATCBE  is  designed  to  furnish  a  DICTIONARY 
or  THK  BIBLE,  embodying  the  products  of  the  best  and  most  recent  researches  in  Biblical  Liter 
ature,  in  which  the  Scholars  of  Europe  and  America  have  been  engaged.  The  work,  the  result 
of  immense  labor  and  research,  and  enriched  by  the  contributions  of  writers  of  distinguished 
eminence  in  the  various  departments  of  Sacred  Literature, — has  been,  by  universal  consent, 
pronounced  the  best  work  of  its  class  extant ;  and  the  one  best  suited  to  the  advanced  knowledge 
of  the  present  day  in  all  the  studies  connected  with  Theological  Science. 

The  Cyclopsedia  of  Biblical  Literature  from  which  this  work  is  condensed  btr  the  author,  is 
published  in  two  volumes,  rendering  it  about  twice  the  size  of  the  present  work,  and  is  intended, 
lays  the  author,  more  particularly  for  Ministers  and  Theological  Students ;  while  the  Popular 
Ci/clopmdia  is  intended  for  Parents,  Sabbath  School  Teachers,  and  the  great  body  of  the  religiouj 
public.  It  has  been  the  author's  aim  to  avoid  imparting  to  the  work  any  color  of  sectarian  01 
denominational  bias.  On  such  points  of  difference  among  Christians,  the  Historical  mode  ot 
treatment  has  been  adopted,  and  care  has  been  taken  to  provide  a  fair  account  of  the  argument* 
which  have  seemed  most  conclusive  to  the  ablest  advocates  of  the  various  opinions.  The  Pictoral 
Illustrations  — amounting  to  men  than  three  hundred  — are  of  the  very  highest  order  of  th«  art. 


MOORE    &   ANDERSON'S    PUBLICATIONS. 

SERVICE  AFLOAT  AND  ASHORE  during  the  Mexican 
War:  By  LIEUT.  RAPHAEL  SEMMES,  U.  S.  N.,  late  Flag- 
Lieutenant  of  the  Home  Squadron,  and  Aid-de-camp  of 
Major-General  Worth,  in  the  battles  of  the  Valley  of  Mexico. 
1  vol.  8vo,  $1.75.  Illustrated  with  numerous  lithographs, 
in  beautiful  style,  by  Onken,  and  an  official  map. 

"  HE  has  given  to  the  public  a  Yery  attractive  -work  upon  Mexico 
Aself,  as  well  as  upon  the  Mexican  "war." — Charleston  (S.  C.)  Standard. 

"  His  original  descriptions  are  drawn  with  great  felicity.  He  is  a 
lively  and  spirited  narrator.  His  battle  sketches  are  extremely  vivid, 
and  produce  a  deep  impression  on  the  imagination.  His  pictures  of 
social  and  domestic  life  in  Mexico  are  apparently  true  to  nature,  and 
present  the  attractions  of  a  romance — criticises  the  military  operations 
in  a  decided  partisan  spirit,  but  with  evident  ability." — N.  Y.  Tribune. 

"  HE  is  bold,  capable,  and  courageous.  He  can  wield  a  pen  or  a 
sword  with  admirable  force  and  dexterity.  *  *  *  As  a  writer,  Lieut 
Semmes  is  clear  and  cogent.  The  first  forty  pages  of  the  volume  are 
occupied  with  a  description  of  Mexico,  its  government  and  people  ;  and 
we  know  of  no  description  of  the  kind,  which  brings  the  condition  of 
things  in  that  unhappy  country  so  distinctly  before  the  mind  of  the 
reader.  The  whole  volume,  as  a  work  of  intellect,  is  worthy  of  a  high 
place  in  the  department  to  which  it  belongs." — Louisville  Journal. 

"!N  remarking  upon  the  various  battles  and  military  movements,  it 
indulges  neither  in  indiscriminate  praise  nor  indiscriminate  censure. — 
It  lauds  everybody  for  something,  out  none  for  everything.  *  *  * 
General  Scott  is  often  and  highly  praised  for  his  surpassing  abilities— 
for  what  he  did  do  in  the  cause  of  his  country ;  yet,  Lieut.  Semmes  asserts 
that  the  battle  of  Churubusco,  and  its  consequent  slaughter,  was  entirely 
unnecessary,  and  brings  forward  arguments  to  sustain  his  assertion.— 
He  also  declares,  and  brings  evidence  to  the  truth  of  the  declaration, 
that  General  Scott  understood  nothing  of  the  real  use  or  strength  of  the 
Molinos  del  Rey,  which  were  so  bloodily  defended  by  the  Mexicans,  and 
that  time  and  again  our  successes  were  owing  to  the  personal  ability 
and  valor  of  subordinates,  and  not  to  the  much-vaunted  foresight  and 
science  of  the  commander-in-chief.  With  all  this,  there  is  no  virulence 
or  indiscriminate  fault-finding.  Lieut.  Semmes'  book  differs  from  all 
that  have  preceded  it,  and  must  attract  attention.  We  say,  "God  defend 
the  right,"  but  let  us  know  what  right  is,  and  give  honor  to  whom  honor 
is  due." — Boston  Post. 

"  SAILORS  are  said  to  be  persons  of  strong  prejudices.  And  it  is  no 
small  praise  to  the  author,  to  say  that  we  have  never  read  a  history  evi 
dently  so  fairly  written,  with  regard  to  the  merits  of  the  numerous 
claimants  of  military  glory.  *  *  *  We  shall  take  our  sailor  and 
soldier  out  of  the  ranks,  and  see  what  he  has  to  tell  of  a  more  amusing 
nature  than  battle  fields.  *  *  *  After  sailing  about  the  Gulf,  and 
cruising  from  Vera  Cruz  to  Mexico  and  back  again  with  our  author,  we 
have  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  he  is  as  pleasant  a  companion  as  one 
might  desire  upon  a  similar  journey,  and  so  commend  him  to  the  favor 
of  the  reading  public." — Literary  World. 


MOORE    &    ANDERSON'S    PUBLICATIONS. 

"  Will  prove  more  generally  useful,  tlian  any  other  work  yet 

publistttd  on  Geology." 

THE  COURSE  OF  CREATION :  By  JOHN  ANDERSON,  D.  D.,  of  New- 
burgh,  Scotland.    With  a  Glossary  of  Scientific  Terms.    1  vol.  12mo. 

Illustrated,  $1.25. 

"  IT  treats  chiefly  of  the  series  of  rocks  between  the  Alps  and  the  Grampians.  It  ii 
thoroughly  scientific,  but  popular  in  its  styl«  and  exceedingly  entertaining." — Zion't 
Herald. 

"  THE  author's  style  is  clear  and  engaging,  and  nis  graphic  descriptions  seem  to  con 
vey  the  reader  at  once  into  the  fields  of  geological  research  to  observe  for  himself." — 
Ohio  Observer. 

"ANOTHER  valuable  contribution  to  the  cause  of  truth  and  sound  science.  Its  value 
is  very  much  enhanced  by  the  Glossary  of  Scientific  Terms  appended  to  it  by  the  pub 
lishers;  for  scarcely  any  one  of  the  sciences  has  a  larger  number  of  terms  with  which 
ordinary  readers  are  unacquainted  than  Geology." — Presbyterian  of  the  West. 

"  WE  commend  the  volume  to  all  who  would  be  instructed  in  the  wonderful  works 
of  God.  Chapters  inch  as  that  on  the  "Economic  History  of  Coal,"  and  those  on  "Or 
ganic  Life"  and  "Physical  and  Moral  Progression,"  have  a  special  value  for  the  stu 
dent  of  divine  Providence." — JV.  Y.  Independent. 

"DR.  ANDERSON  is  evidently  well  skilled  in  geology,  and  writes  with  a  freedom 
and  vivacity  rivaled  by  no  writer  on  the  subject — except  Hugh  Miller." — Methodist 
Quarterly  Review. 

"THIS  book  is  intended  for  general  readers, — and  such  readers  will  be  entertained 
by  it, — but  it  is  none  the  less  thorough,  and  enters  boldly  into  geological  inquiry." — 
Boston  Advertiser. 

"  ONE  of  the  most  interesting  and  valuable  works  on  Geology  that  we  have  ever  met 
with.  The  author  is  a  thoroughly  scientific  man; — but  his  scientific  accuracy  does  not 
prevent  the  work  from  being  understood  by  unscientific  readers,  it  is  a  very  readable 
book." — Louisville  Journal. 

"  BY  read  ing  this  book  a  person  can  obtain  a  general  knowledge  of  the  whole  subject." 
— Western  Star. 

•  *  »  «  Highly  honorable  to  the  writer  and  honorable  to  the  publishers." — Boston 
Congregationalist. 

"THIS  valuable  volume  was  printed.  r*s  well  as  published,  in  Cincinnati;  and  it 
speaks  as  well  for  the  literary  society  of  that  city,  as  for  the  enterprise  of  the  publish 
ers,  and  the  taste  and  skill  of  the  typographer." — Boston  Post. 

"  IT  is  one  of  the  significant  signs  of  the  times  that  we  should  be  receiving  a  work 
like  this,  from  a  city  that  had  scarcely  an  existence  fifty  years  ago,  got  up  in  a  style 
of  elegance,  that  ranks  it  beside  the  finest  issues  of  the  publishing  houses  of  Boston 
and  New  York.  This  fact,  however,  is  but  the  smallest  element  of  interest  that  attaches 
to  the  volume.  It  is  one  of  those  noble  contributions  to  natural  science,  in  its  relation 
to  revealed  religion,  which  in  the  writings  of  Hugh  Miller,  King,  Brewster,  anil  others 
have  conferred  new  luster  on  the  honored  name  of  Scotland.  *  •  *  The  concluding 
chapter  is  a  sublime  questioning  of  Geology,  as  to  the  testimony  she  gives  lo  a  Creator, 
somewhat  after  the  manner  of  the  Scholia,  to  Newton's  Principia,  and  is  one  of  the 
noblest  portions  of  the  work." — Richmond,  Pa.,  Wvtchman  and  Observer. 

"THE  science  of  Geology  is  attracting  more  and  more  attention.  *  «  •  That 
whicn  was  once  a  gigantic  chaos,  has  become  developed  into  a  system  beautifully  sym 
metrical,  and  infinitely  grand." — Mercantile  Courier. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


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